


The Cabin

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [51]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Baby Kitties, Child Abuse, Crime Scene Details, Death, Discussion of Acts of Violence, Frank Discussion of Sexual Abuse and Statistics Thereof, Harsh Language, M/M, Murder, Psychics, Relationship Woes, Religious Folk, Scene-Stealing Doggies, Team Dissension, Violence against women, pure unmitigated porn, spousal abuse, traumatic flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 123,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid is asked to go to Maine to investigate the disappearance of a college student and her cat.  Spencer uses the case as a means to prove to himself and to the others that he is ready to return to his BAU job.  Hotch learns to adjust to a new unit chief, and the team struggles with internal tensions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Glory Lovelace  and 1 - I See What You Did There

Prologue - Glory Lovelace

 

“Hi, Dr. Reid. Thanks for meeting with us at this hour.”

“Hi, Holly. Come in. It’s chilly out there,” Reid said as he opened the front door wider. He had caught the ‘us’, and turned his attention to the young woman who followed Holly inside. Reid gave the stranger what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She did not look any less uncomfortable. She shouldered her overstuffed book bag and stepped closer to Holly. 

“This is my friend Joy. She’s in my Bio-Ethics class,” Holly explained. 

“Hello,” Reid said, extending a hand. 

“Hi, sir,” the brunette said, taking his hand with a quick, cold shake, giving Holly a skeptical glance. Reid knew that he did not have a very commanding presence. Few people did when awakened from a restless sleep at midnight by a phone call and then a knock on the door. Reid smoothed down his wild hair and tugged Hotch’s robe tighter around himself. 

“Did we get you out of bed?” Holly worried. 

“No,” Reid lied, motioning for them to follow him to the dining room table. He had been wearing his pajamas since about 6 p.m., once Jack was home from school, and they had eaten dinner. They had spent a couple hours playing math games to help Jack prepare for tomorrow’s quiz. Reid glanced up to see that there was a crack in Jack’s doorway. In spite of the late hour, the youngster was standing in the darkness, peering down below. Jack never slept well when Hotch was out of town. The older he got, the more he understood how dangerous Hotch’s job was, and the more he worried about his father. 

Hotch was currently in New Orleans, working a child murder case. The last report from Aaron was that the team was making very slow progress in the hunt. They had caught four bodies so far, and there was another little girl missing. Reid had been tossing and turning in his sleep, trying not to imagine what he would feel like if Mouse or Jack vanished and was found as these poor innocent children had been found. 

The kitchen door opened, and Captain Spaulding entered the house with her whippet Snippet trailing behind her on a leash. Reid glanced up and smiled unconsciously, because whenever Spaulding had her dog with her, she kept a running dialogue going with her pet, in a tone and a voice that was so unlike the no-nonsense woman Reid was used to. When she spoke to her pet, her voice soothed Reid’s nerves. 

“You sit down here and behave yourself, mister. No running. No jumping. No chasing. No tearing up any cushions. Is that clear?” 

Snippet waved his whole body side to side in response, not just his tail. He was wiggling with excitement and adoration as he kept his eyes glued to Spaulding. He turned around in a frantic circle, putting his thin, gray bottom down on the kitchen tiles right where Spaulding pointed. He whimpered and howled. She patted him on the head and gave him a piece of dog biscuit from her pocket. It was part of his obedience training – rewarding him when he did what he was told. 

“Sit. Good boy. Who loves you? Mommy loves you. Good boy.”

Holly and Joy exchanged a glance, and Holly cracked a tiny smile. There was a scampering of feet high on the landing. Reid knew it wasn’t Jack. He caught the sight of a bushy black tail and one white leg as Goody disappeared into the master bedroom. The covers were undoubtedly still warm. 

“We’re sorry to disturb you so late, Mrs. Reid,” Joy said. Spaulding’s head bounced up. Her face was smeared with alarm and horror. Reid snorted softly. He couldn’t help it. Spaulding narrowed her eyes at him for a brief flash of a second before a bemused smirk twisted her mouth sideways. 

“I’m not Mrs. Reid,” the Captain clarified.

“My mother lives in Nevada,” Reid added quietly, and he left it at that. 

Joy blanched white. Spaulding kept on going, not lingering on the mistake. 

“Everything all right, Doc?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid replied. 

“Would anyone like some coffee?” Spaulding asked, working on a friendly smile. 

Everyone responded that they would, yes, please. In reality, Captain Spaulding was only a few years older than the other two women, but her world of experience was so vastly different from theirs. Military service and tours of duty in a live war zone made Amy seem decades more mature by comparison. Even though she wasn’t wearing her military uniform, her dark slacks, crisp shirt, and polished short boots followed the unconscious dress code of a soldier striving to look like a civilian while at the same time maintaining the disciplined appearance they had learned in the service. Holly noticed that Spaulding had a weapon strapped to her hip, and she studied Amy, then she studied Reid with a burning curiosity in her eyes. 

By comparison, Holly and Joy were dressed as one would have expected for college students—jeans and sweaters, comfortable jackets thrown over the top. Holly had a couple extra braids in her long locks tonight. Joy’s short, dark brown hair was touched on the tips with a hint of green and black which matched her thick eyeliner and dark eye shadow. Holly was wearing sneakers, and Joy had pulled on a well-worn pair of black Doc Martens boots. There was a tiny tattoo on Joy’s left wrist which showed when she took off her jacket. It was an infinity loop of Celtic braids in green and gold, with ‘Joy’ in one half and the name ‘Glory’ in the other. 

Reid knew what Spaulding was doing – making coffee would give her a chance to be close by and guard him while at the same time not being in the room and making the other young women nervous or curious about her presence. He watched Spaulding open the drawers, cabinets, and canisters, hunting down filters and ground coffee, cups, and other necessary paraphernalia. Snippet remained glued to her leg, watching her every move. Every now and then, Amy would lean down, pat him on the head, and slip him a bit of dog biscuit from her pocket. 

“Where do you want us to start?” Holly asked Reid. 

“At the beginning,” Reid replied, beckoning them to take a chair at the table. He heard Jack’s door creak open wider. The faint sound of his music box angel drifted down the well of the dining room. Reid made it a point not to look up, because he knew that Jack would be creeping to the banister when he thought the coast was clear. He remembered being near Jack’s age and listening in on the conversations and arguments that his parents had had. It was only natural for Jack to be curious. 

Joy dug into her book bag and pulled out a brown expandable file. She held it tight to her chest for a second, her brown eyes full of sadness. Holly put a supportive hand on her friend’s arm. Joy cautiously slid the file across the dining table to Reid. 

“I don’t know if you can help or not,” she frowned. “But Holly said maybe.” 

“I will try,” Reid promised, peeling the elastic cord down and flipping up the flap. 

Copies of police reports spilled out. Numerous pictures of various rustic locations. Pine trees. Rocky shores. Pristine forests. A large lake. A grocery store. A broken-down car. There were pictures of a young woman. Pictures of a long-haired cat. A picture of a heart-shaped necklace and several rings. Reid drew in a long breath, and the young women interpreted the sound as surprise and shock, but it was delight, pure and simple. Reid was ecstatic. Happiness coursed through his veins. He wanted to run his fingers through these reports and pieces of evidence, bathe in the smell and the taste of them. 

He focused on the most prominent picture, a young woman near in age to Joy. It was obvious they were related. They could have passed for twins: same brunette hair though the missing woman’s was worn longer, same brown eyes, though less eyeliner, same build, same nose. He singled out that photograph, pulled it to the top. He restrained his urge to dive through the rest of the file, to gorge himself on the delicious mystery contained within. 

“That’s my little sister Glory. She’s 22. She’s missing. She’s….she’s….I’m afraid she’s dead,” Joy explained. She caught her breath, and her eyes welled. She covered her mouth with one hand as tears poured suddenly down her face. Joy shook with pain and hurt and worry, and all the other emotions that Reid had seen in family members over the years, those emotions that well up when you know that something’s wrong, and no one will listen to you. Even though the light of hope burns in your heart, your brain is telling you that your loved one is dead and gone. Perhaps this was the very first moment in which Joy had been able to admit to herself, to say the words aloud, to start to accept the truth, that she knew her missing sister was dead. 

Holly patted Joy’s arm tenderly for a second. Spaulding was bringing several cups and a pot of coffee to the table. Holly bounced to her feet and helped dish out cups. She was drying her face, wrinkling up her mouth to suppress her pain. It wasn’t only sympathy for Joy and her missing sister. Reid could tell that Holly too had lost someone, and that’s why she was so touched by Joy’s pain. She bounced into the kitchen to retrieve the sugar from the counter and the milk from the fridge. The distance would give her time to pull her emotions in check. Reid limped over to retrieve a box of tissues and limped back, sliding the box carefully to Joy. He could hear Jack breathing on the landing, but again, forced himself not to look up. 

“I want you to find my sister, Dr. Reid. She’s been missing since late October. None of the police will listen to me. They keep telling me she’s an adult, and that she’s free to leave, that she can come and go as she pleases. I need to know what happened to her. She wouldn’t be gone this long, and not call me or email me or contact me somehow, some way. We and I had a terrible fight that night. She got mad at me. When I left the apartment to go to my night class, Glory put Josie in her carrier, and she packed a bag, and she left. It’s all my fault she’s gone,” Joy rambled, her voice making Reid’s heart ache.

“Who is Josie?” Spencer asked. Joy fished through the photographs from the expandable file, and gave him the picture of the long-haired cat. 

“That’s Josie. Our baby,” Joy sniffled. “We got her when she was a kitten. The Empress Josephine. She’s a Russian Blue. The breeder said she was defective because she’s polydactyl. She was going to euthanize Josie, but she let us adopt her, as long as we promised not to breed her. Josie and Glory are all I have, you know? Our mom’s dead. Our dad’s gone. I need to know where Glory is. If she’s mad and she doesn’t want to come home, I understand. I just need to know where she is and what happened to her.” 

“Tell me everything,” Reid whispered, taking a deep breath and leaning closer to the table.

* * * 

1 - I See What You Did There

 

“Do you have your math homework?” Reid asked. Jack fidgeted in the back seat, reaching over to take Reid’s hand. 

“Yes, Papa.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine on the test. We practiced all evening. You’re ready,” Reid reassured him. 

They were pulling along in a slow line of cars, parents dropping their children off at Jack’s school. Ensign James was at the wheel. Reid and Jack had a couple minutes to continuing talking. Jack was like Hotch – when there was something on his mind, he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut. 

“I don’t care about the stupid test. I’m worried about you,” Jack said. 

“Aunt Jessica will pick you up this afternoon,” Spencer promised. 

“I know,” Jack said. 

“Do you have my phone?” 

“Yes,” Jack said, patting his school bag. “If Daddy calls, what do I say?” 

“Tell him the truth. That you are spending the night with Aunt Jess. That I will be back by tomorrow night at the latest, unless I find a lead on the missing woman and her cat.” 

“Shouldn’t you take your phone with you?” Jack asked. 

In the driver’s seat, Ensign James gave a small snort of agreement, nodding quickly. Reid stared at the rearview mirror, and James stared back, nervously shrinking down. 

“I have another cell phone. Do you have the number?” Reid confirmed with Jack.

“Yes,” Jack said, pushing fingers into his pocket and back out again. Reid had given him a piece of paper with all the relevant information written out neatly. “For emergencies only. I remember.”

“You can call me if you want me. You can give the number to Daddy too.” 

“Daddy will be mad at you if you go off alone again.” 

“Jack, I won’t be alone. Besides that. As hard as it might be to believe. Your daddy doesn’t always get to tell me what to do. I’m a grown adult.”

“He tells you what to do at home.”

“Only when I let him,” Reid smiled. 

“I’ll be with him, buddy. Don’t worry,” Ensign James promised.

“Why can’t I go with you?” Jack whined.

“Because your Aunt Jess would be very angry with me.”

“Understatement of the year,” James interjected quietly. 

“Do you remember how mad she was when I took you to Montana without her permission?” Reid said to Jack. 

“Yeah, but she got over it. Did Daddy say something mean to you when he called yesterday?” Jack wondered.

“No,” Reid smiled faintly. 

“Why are you running away from home again?” 

Reid frowned, wondering why Jack had used that turn of phrase. “Jack, I’m not running away from home.” 

“Who were those women who came to see you last night?” Jack demanded. 

“Holly Manners and Joy Lovelace.” 

“But who are they?” 

“My friend and her friend. They came to ask for help.” 

“They lost their cat?”

“Yes.” 

“You’re helping them find their cat?” 

“Yes,” Reid nodded. 

“What about the missing woman?” 

“I hope to find her too.”

“Does Daddy know about this?” 

“I called this morning. I left him a voice mail,” Reid replied. “Do you have your bag? Are you ready?” 

“Daddy is going to be mad at you,” Jack warned.

“Jack, everything will be fine. You have a good time at school. Concentrate on your math test,” Reid soothed. 

Jack unbuckled his seatbelt as they arrived at the sidewalk path which led straight into the school. 

“Where is Greenville, Maine?” Jack asked.

“I put a yellow pin in the map at home so you could find me,” Reid promised. 

Horns were beginning to sound behind them. Jack reached for the door handle. 

“Will you bring me a moose?” he asked, getting out and adjusting his bag on his shoulder. He was putting on a smile, very slowly. 

“I will bring you at least one moose,” Reid promised. 

Jack waved to Reid, and gave Ensign James a quick salute before he snapped around on one heel and ran for the school building. Reid wistfully watched him disappear through the front doors. They sat for a few seconds more, ignoring the horns that were honking more emphatically. Finally, Spencer reached over and pulled the door closed, sighing heavily.

“You’re getting to be pretty good at this ‘Papa’ thing,” Ensign James commented. 

Reid shrugged sadly. “At least Jack is speaking to me.”

“Mouse is at a delicate emotional stage. You shouldn’t take her silence personally. I have a sister. I know how they are.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes.” 

“What was your sister like at twelve? Distant? Moody? Irritable?”

“For at least one week a month,” the ensign nodded. Reid sat back for a second and blinked in surprise. Had he not considered that possibility? “Are we off to Maine?” the ensign asked, unable to control his excitement, which spilled across his face with a bright grin. 

“Yes. Why do you look as if you’ve won the lottery?” 

“Miles is going to be so jealous,” James mused. 

“I booked a couple seats on a flight out of Dulles. We should be able to make it to the airport in approximately fifty-six minutes,” Reid replied. “Why will Miles be jealous?” 

“I tend to get the exciting shifts. He says it’s not fair.”

“This is not the exit which will take us to Dulles.” 

“No, it isn’t. The Captain had a feeling this morning. Told me she would be waiting at Andrews. She’ll have a special bird prepared for us. We can be at Andrews in twenty to thirty minutes. Buckle up, Doc.”

“Do you know how expensive those seats were?” Reid murmured, popping open his satchel and retrieving his laptop from inside. 

“We cancelled your reservations already. Doc, General Scott would have a cow if we let you fly civilian. Besides, the Captain has been dying to get her butt in the cockpit of a 2013 Cirrus SR22. A ‘friend’ of hers needs one flown back to Bangor, to the 101st, for a training mission. The air base is only an hour or so from Greenville.”

“A friend?” Reid picked up on the extra vocal emphasis. He could almost see the finger quotes James wanted to put around the word. 

“ ‘A friend,’ she said. ‘A friend?’, I said. ‘A friend, you nosy fuck, quit asking questions,’ she replied.”

“Ah,” Reid nodded, logging into his laptop and sitting back in the seat. “Perhaps someone with whom she served while she was on active military duty.” 

“Maybe. What are you checking?” 

“Weather reports for Bangor, Maine.” 

“Did you really leave a message for Hotchner?” 

“Yes,” Reid replied, looking up from his monitor for a second and then back down as satellite weather maps began to load.

“When did you call?” 

“Six this morning.” 

“Why didn’t he answer?” 

“He was in the shower, like he is every morning at 6 a.m. I also left a message at his work number. He’ll check the phone messages as he’s getting dressed. Then check the office messages when he gets to the staging HQ, shortly after 7.”

“Mm hmmm.”

“Which means we don’t have much time.”

“Nice job. I see what you did there. Giving Jack your cell phone, and taking a burner phone along, will delay the eruption of Mount Hotchner by a few minutes at least.” 

“I told Hotch not to worry. That Jack is fine, and I am fine. I will be back by tomorrow night,” Reid defended. “You make it sound so deceptive.” 

“You played him by knowing his time schedule. He’s not stupid. He’s going to realize what you did. Jack is right. Hotch is going to be pissed,” James warned.

“He will likely be concerned,” Reid admitted. 

“Fuck him. He’ll get over it. You need some time away.”

“Do I?” Reid mused. 

“Doc, I know you love him, but he’s been way too overprotective of you, since, you know, all the business with that Trovinger guy. He was protective before, but since then…..? I can see where that might get on your nerves, having someone breathing down your neck all the time, unwilling to let you out of their sight for a second.” 

“Yes,” Reid replied dryly, allowing an ironic smile. The Ensign caught on right away what Reid was aiming at. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed a little.

“Okay, point taken. But you know what I mean. It’s an entirely different thing, being followed by a surveillance team compared to being followed by the one you love. You need some space, Doc.” 

“When we get where we’re going. You and Spaulding are going to have to lay low. I understand you have a job to do. But if we show up en masse in search of this missing woman. The police are going to get defensive. The locals are going to clam up. We’re not going to get anywhere,” Reid said.

“I hear you,” James agreed.

“Besides that, as I am on medical leave from the FBI. I cannot use my credentials or my position or my connections to gain entre into this case. I will be, in effect, breaking the law if I lie. This is a precarious position.”

“I see you brought your weapon.”

“Yes, I brought my weapon,” Reid nodded, patting his satchel. “Hope I don’t have to use it, but I felt it was inadvisable not to at least have it with me.” 

“How do you plan to get the police to cooperate and let you into the case?” 

“Because I will tell the police that I am searching for the cat.” 

“The cat?” 

“The Empress Josephine, who was traveling with Glory Lovelace when she was last seen.”

“You’re going to Maine to look for the cat?” James said skeptically. 

“Officially.” 

“Officially,” James echoed as he nodded. “No worries, Doc. The Captain and I, we know how to blend in. You won’t even know we’re there. But we’ll be there.”

“I appreciate that,” Reid murmured. “Tell me more about this friend of Captain Spaulding’s.”

“A friend, that’s all I know. But you know, and I know, that it would take some kind of friend to be able to wrangle a top of the line, spanking new aircraft for her at the drop of a phone call. Don’t we? I mean, yeah, a friend, my hairy butt.”

“A friend,” Reid echoed, smiling. 

“Do you think she left the yapper at home?” 

“Snippet was tearing up her sofa. I doubt she left him at home.” 

“But we’re going by small plane. Where is he going to ride?”


	2. Training Mission

2 - Training Mission

 

“I did not know they made helmets that small,” Ensign James murmured for the seventh time. His voice was carried over the intercom system of the small aircraft, into the ears of the other two human passengers. 

“You can get them on Amazon,” Spaulding replied. “Snippy, sit. Sit! Good boy!”

Dr. Reid adjusted his arms around the whippet in his lap, who was digging his sharp claws into Spencer’s thin thighs. This was actually preferable to digging his claws into the instrument panels, which Snippet had been doing in order to get a better view out the front of the airplane. The clouds that surrounded them were confusing the dog. The adoring animal tilted his head against Reid’s chest, staring at Spaulding with big eyes. Spaulding made kissy noises. Snippet danced around in a circle, a whirl of sharp bones, sharper claws, and long tail, before sitting down again, licking Reid’s nose and chin, and leaning on him. 

“Be careful, Doc. Keep your chin up, or he will slip you frenchies,” Spaulding warned. Reid watched Snippet’s mouth warily. Spaulding’s twinkling eyes studied the dual monitors and the instrument arrays before her, then took in the cloud cover and mist outside the windows of their small plane. 

In front of them, the propeller spun in a strange whirr where the blades were partially visible, making the mind believe they were rotating much more slowly than they were actually moving. Watching the blades dance was almost as hypnotic as watching the readings on the two displays, one which showed an exact aerial overview on a color-block map, complete with lakes and highways and other landmarks, and the second of which showed the horizon straight ahead, perfectly aligned, and the readings to the side which allowed the pilot to fly blind through the heavy cloud cover which had plagued them since Connecticut.

“Do you take him flying all the time?” James asked.

“Snippy has probably logged more hours in the air than most pilots,” Spaulding grinned. “All right,” she continued, her smile going dormant as she became all business. “It’s 10:40 a.m. We’re exactly twenty minutes out. Brett will be contacting us shortly. From that point until we’re on the ground, we are flying his training mission. All of our communications and responses will be in line with the pre-arranged scenario. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid replied. 

“What’s the scenario?” James asked. 

“Even though we’re a small commuter plane, our vehicle signals will indicate that we’re an empty fuel tanker. We’re going to be experiencing electrical shorts, and we’ll have gas smell in the cockpit. The guys at Bolling rigged this bird for a small electrical fire and a bit of smoke even before shipping the plane over to Andrews for us,” Spaulding answered. “Brett is testing his cadets on their response time in emergency situations.” 

“Brett?” Reid questioned. 

“Brett? You’re on a first name basis? That’s kinda familiar, isn’t it?” James noted, sitting up and grinning broadly as he peered over the space between the two front seats. 

“He is Chief Master Sergeant LaFlamme, to you,” Spaulding warned. 

“Mm hmm. Do I have to salute this guy?” James hummed. Spaulding gave the ensign a hairy-eyed stare by raising one slim brow. 

“Electrical fire? Smoke?” Reid questioned. Spaulding turned her attention back to him. 

“Don’t worry. There won’t be any real damage. But LaFlamme’s cadets won’t know that. Be prepared for all kinds of haz-mat and medical emergency response. I promised casualties, and that the pilot might be dead on arrival. Brett asked me if I’d splash around some gore, make it good for the kids.” 

“Gore?” James flinched. 

“Oh, relax. I said no. We’re on a tight schedule. No time for a wardrobe change. Or time to mop fake blood out of the cockpit. We might need to take a few minutes and let the kids bandage us up though. They will assign injuries based on precipitating factors: our location in the aircraft, our tasks, and our actions.”

“GKT-22, this is Chief Master Sergeant LaFlamme at Bangor National Guard Air Base. Do you copy?” 

The deep voice came over the com, and Spaulding let a bright smile take over her face for a flash of a second before reverting to her usual business mode. 

“Bangor National Guard Air Base, this is GKT-22. We copy.” 

“Captain Spaulding, is that you?” 

“Yes, it is, Bangor.”

“Captain Spaulding, can you give me an ETA on your approach?” 

“Chief Master Sergeant LaFlamme, we’re exactly nineteen minutes, thirty seconds out. At this time, I would like to request that you initiate your emergency response team and prepare for a possible haz-mat situation.” 

“Can you confirm your last transmission, GKT-22?” 

“Yes, sir. I would like to request that you alert your emergency responders and prepare for a possible haz-mat situation.” 

“Copy that, GKT-22. Can you give us a rundown on your current condition?” 

“We are now eighteen minutes, ten seconds out. There is a fuel smell in the cockpit. Perhaps some smoke drifting off to my left from the rear of the plane. Some of my electrical systems are not responding correctly. I’m having trouble with telemetry readings. I am also feeling woozy.” 

“Woozy?” came back the deep voice. “Can you be more specific, GKT-22?” 

“It must be the fumes in the cockpit. They’re like the lingering scent of cheap cologne in an NCO canteen,” Spaulding chuckled. 

“GKT-22? Are you flying solo, or do you have a co-pilot? How many passengers do you have? Can you give me a run-down of your cargo? Is there anyone on board who can pilot the vessel if you pass out?” 

“One of my passengers is a private pilot,” Spaulding responded, casting an eye towards Reid and back to her controls. It was then that Reid understood why she had insisted that he sit in the second front seat instead of the combined two rear seats where James was. “Bangor, I have no cargo. My tanks are empty. I have three passengers—two humans, one canine.” 

“You brought your dog?” the voice came back, humor and disbelief in his voice. 

“He misses you too, Brett.” 

“I suppose Snippy is your co-pilot?”

“One of my human passengers is the private pilot,” Spaulding corrected. 

“How many hours of flight time has your private pilot logged?” 

“I have logged 50 hours of flight time in the last year, including the prerequisite night hours and solo hours,” Reid replied softly. No need to explain that it had been literally six months since he had flown, or that he had been in a coma for almost an entire month of that down time. His brain was already beginning to devour information from the displays, readying stored knowledge which might come in handy. He was almost giddy at the prospect, and struggling to keep the excitement out of his voice. 

“Copy that,” the other man replied. “GKT-22, I am scrambling my emergency responders as requested. We’ll see you in seventeen minutes. Maintain radio communications as long as possible.” 

Ensign James yelped out and flinched upwards as an electrical crackle and sparking erupted from underneath Captain Spaulding’s seat. The Captain remained remarkably calm as sparks and gray smoke fizzled out from behind and beneath her.

“GKT-22, this is Bangor. Do you copy? Are you experiencing electrical shorts in your flight systems?” 

“Ensign, you wanna grab the fire extinguisher?” Spaulding said before flipping on the mic again. “Bangor, we copy. Small electrical fire. We’ve got it under control.” 

James pulled the small cylindrical red container out of its holder, popped the top, and doused underneath the pilot’s chair. Snippet barked and jumped around in Reid’s arms. Spencer smiled and winced, and kept a good grip on the excitable dog. His behavior was very unusual for a whippet. They were known for being quiet, calm dogs. Snippet was the exception to the stereotype. Spaulding had been working with him as much as possible, hoping to curb his excitable nature. 

“GKT-22, can you update us on your condition?”

“Bangor, this is GKT-22. Our fire has been contained,” Spaulding answered calmly.

“How are your electrical systems holding up? Are you telemetry readings accurate?” 

“As far as I can tell in all this cloud cover. We’ll try not to splash down hard on your tarmac,” Spaulding replied. 

“What is your condition, Captain Spaulding? Feeling woozy?” 

The Captain raised a brow and checked over the plane’s systems once more. 

“Captain Spaulding? This is Bangor. Please report.”

“Hold up a sec, Maineiac. I’m loading the computer simulation,” Spaulding responded. “There we go. Bangor, this is GKT-22. I am starting to lose my telemetry readings. Auto pilot is not responding. We are coming in on manual. Have your people ready. Gents, hold onto your seats. Snippy, sit. Stay. Good boy. Initiating computer simulation in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.” 

The plane took a step dive and banked sharply to the right. Reid caught his breath as the clouds rushed by, and the adrenalin flamed through his veins. Snippy howled and scrambled about. He did not like the sudden change in altitude or direction. James sat back in his seat, closing his eyes and gripping his restraints tightly with both hands. 

“Oh, Captain. Bad idea. Bad idea,” he whispered. 

“Bangor, this is GKT-22. One of my passengers is experiencing a medical emergency.”

“What’s his condition, Captain Spaulding?” 

Amy glanced over her shoulder at James and winked at him. 

“He’s either going to need a barf bag or a diaper, maybe both.” 

“So not funny,” James frowned. The plane was leveling out at the bottom of the cloud cover. There were hints of landmarks and objects, vague shapes, which matched the information coming from the display on the right, showing the color-block representations of the ground below. 

Reid’s cell phone started ringing emphatically. 

“You gonna get that?” Spaulding asked casually. 

“Mmm. No,” Reid answered. The plane’s computer voice came online, warning of imminent danger, system failure, calamity, and death. He suspected the call was Hotch, and the last thing he wanted Aaron hearing in the background were sounds of impending doom from the airplane’s computer voice. Snippy was dancing around in Reid’s arms, digging at his pocket where the phone was ringing. 

“I could get it for you,” Spaulding offered. 

“Nope,” Reid winced, taking Snippy’s paws in order to calm his anxious reactions. 

“GKT-22, this is Bangor. Can you report on your condition?” 

“Feeling…. faint….” Spaulding wheezed, playing it up well. “Going to turn you over…. to…. arrrrrg,” she ended dramatically, sitting back in her seat and clicking off her mic. 

“Did you say ‘arg’?” LaFlamme cackled in disbelief. 

“Bangor National Guard Air Base, this is GKT-22,” Reid responded. “Our pilot Captain Spaulding appears to be experiencing a medical emergency.”

“Copy that, GKT-22. Identify yourself, please?” 

“Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied without thinking. He wondered a second later if he should have included that first part, but it had fallen off his tongue as naturally as the urge to show his badge anytime he was asked to identify himself. 

“You’re a federal agent? Well then, Agent Dr. Reid, we’re depending on you to get the plane on the ground with a minimal loss of life. Can you do that?” 

“Yes, sir,” Reid answered blandly. 

“Is that…. Is that a cell phone ringing?” 

“Negative, Bangor,” Reid replied. Spaulding reached over and scooped Snippet off of Reid’s lap, allowing him room to grasp the flight stick to his right.


	3. Flames

3 - Flames

 

“That went well,” Spaulding chuckled. Ensign James was lying prone on the stretcher on the ground as three young cadets were winding bandages around his lower extremities. James frowned up at the Captain and patted the ground. Spaulding had peeled off Snippet’s helmet, and was holding it in her other hand. 

“You want to sit? They’ll get to you next.” 

“It’s too late, Ensign. No amount of medical help can save me. I’ve got my wings now, angel wings,” Spaulding mused. 

Snippet gave a piercing, high-pitched bark, and then took off in a swift gallop which propelled him past where Dr. Reid was leaning on his cane, being tended by a cadet while being grilled by a haz-mat responder. Amy turned to see where Snippet was running, and spotted a familiar figure striding across from the nearest hanger. The figure was clapping his hands and whistling to Snippet, and the dog was rocketing towards him excitedly. 

Ensign James and Dr. Reid both stared openly as Chief Master Sergeant LaFlamme approached. It was impossible to not stare. The tall, handsome man had the good looks, chiseled chin, and broad smile of a Disney hero. He wore his green flight suit, boots, and brown outer jacket like a second skin. He had broad shoulders and a thin waist. He billowed manliness as he crossed the flight field. Without missing a step, he gracefully swept down and scooped Snippet off the ground, holding the dog firmly on one arm. As this Prince Charming approached, the cadets all jumped to their feet and stood at attention, waiting on his command.

“Report, Dupuis,” LaFlamme requested. 

“Yes, sir! The plane has been secured. All electrical fires have been extinguished. We did not find any indication of a fuel leak. The situation has been contained,” a cadet dressed in a haz-mat suit responded.

“The source of the fuel smell?” LaFlamme asked. 

“We believe fuel may have been spilled or sloshed on the left side of the plane before take-off, sir, and must have made its way into the passenger area from there.”

“Cadet, what would your next step have been, had this been an actual tanker?” 

“Sir, we would have examined the fuel hoses and attachment assemblies for wear and tear and damage. Stress to the moving parts caused by rough weather during an in-flight refueling.” 

“Good job, Dupuis. Galwick? What is the status of the plane’s occupants?” 

The cadet who had been wrapping bandages around Reid’s right arm pushed herself taller and answered, “Three casualties, sir. The pilot is deceased, overcome by the gas fumes and subsequent inhalant poisoning. The co-pilot has an injured right arm from the rough landing,” she added, indicating the bandage she was wrapping around Reid’s extended right hand. “The rear passenger has minor burns on his lower extremities and right arm from putting out the electrical fire under the pilot’s seat,” she continued, pointing to James. 

“Will the co-pilot and passenger survive?” LaFlamme asked. 

“Yes, sir,” Galwick responded. 

“Good job, all of you. We’ve taken up enough of these good people’s time. Head back to the classroom. In thirty minutes, I will expect written reports on the incident, including a rundown of your tactical response and anything that you would have done differently, if this had been an actual emergency situation. Dismissed!”

LaFlamme held Snippet up on one arm as the cadets marched away, some casting back curious glances as they left. The Chief Master Sergeant exchanged a smile with Captain Spaulding, stepping back a step to admire her from tip to toe. Although she was not wearing an official uniform, she was wearing a dark jacket over the top which did bear her rank on the collar. 

“Shit, look at you. Captain Spaulding. I don’t believe it. Do I have to salute you now, Amy?”

“It’s so good to see you,” Spaulding said as she worshipped LaFlamme up and down and then dropped her eyes on the ground. 

“Look at how big Snippet has gotten! Do you have kisses for Daddy?” LaFlamme gushed, nosing the excited dog and getting his face slathered with licks. 

“He’s about twenty-two inches tall. A good size for a whippet,” Spaulding said. 

“Here you go,” LaFlamme said, letting Snippet down on the tarmac. Spaulding scooped up the leash end at the same time as LaFlamme bent down to snag it, and they stood up in unison, nearly nose to nose. LaFlamme was grinning broadly at her, and Spaulding had actually started to blush.

“Thanks for the all the fun and excitement,” Spaulding murmured. “But we have to get going. We need to get Dr. Reid to Greenville.”

“I got you a rental. Big blue thing, waiting over by the main hanger. Lots of cargo space. Thanks for giving my kids a workout. They needed it. We don’t get a lot of excitement around here. The Swedish ambassador stopped for refueling yesterday, and they nearly smothered him trying to be helpful.” 

“It was a well-coordinated response. They’ve got a great teacher,” Spaulding complimented, watching James stand and unwind the wrappings on his arm and legs. 

“Sorry they couldn’t save you in time,” LaFlamme chuckled, giving her a small punch in the shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, them’s the breaks.” 

“Are you in Maine for long?” 

“A day or two,” Spaulding sputtered. She paused to give Ensign James and Dr. Reid a sideways glance because both of them were hanging on the exchange as if it were a Wimbledon tennis match. Reid’s phone rang again. He limped a few steps away, pulling out his cell and hunching nervously close to the phone. 

“Hello? This is Dr. Reid.”

Reid cringed and yanked the phone back away from his ear. Hotch’s voice was audible from five feet away. James squinted in sympathy. So did Spaulding. LaFlamme turned and gawped for a moment before centering his attention on Spaulding once more. 

“We should have dinner tomorrow, if you’re gonna be around. I’ll toss a couple steaks on. I’ll even have doggie treats,” LaFlamme offered. 

“Hotch? Calm down,” Reid pleaded. Spaulding was shaking her head side to side, looking regretful.

“Hold that thought. Don’t say ‘no’. Say ‘maybe’. Give me a little hope,” LaFlamme begged. 

“Maybe. It depends on work. We didn’t come to Greenville to socialize,” Spaulding replied. She was biting her lip and working hard not to grin at him. 

“Why did you come to Greenville?” 

“Dr. Reid’s is working a missing person’s case,” Spaulding said. 

“So, he’s a federal agent, hm?” 

“FBI,” Spaulding nodded. 

“He’s not your usual type,” LaFlamme put in. Spaulding gave him a stare that raised welts. “Well, he’s not,” LaFlamme defended the remark. “Let me know if you need my help. I’m happy to oblige,” he offered sheepishly. 

“Hotch, I’ll see you later,” Reid said, hanging up his phone and putting it away. He carefully pivoted to face the others once more. 

“Sounds like you have your hands full. I’ll leave you to it. Ensign. Doctor. Captain,” the Chief Master Sergeant nodded, nodded, and gave a final quick salute to Spaulding before he headed back towards the direction that his cadets had gone. As fabulous as LaFlamme’s entrance had been, his exit was even more so. It was duly appreciated by all those assembled. 

“Nothing like a man in uniform,” James purred. 

“Mmmm,” Reid agreed. “I’ll second that.” 

“Hey, aren’t you married?” James tormented.

“I’m allowed to look,” Reid replied defensively. 

Snippet made a quizzical, wistful sound, tilted his head, and pulled anxiously on his leash as if to follow LaFlamme. Spaulding managed to give both Reid and James a smack in the back of the head and keep hold on Snippet’s leash as they headed for the main hanger and the rental car that LaFlamme had promised.

“Is Hotchner going to be on the next flight he can commandeer, or is he flying commercial to come drag your skinny ass home?” James asked Reid. 

“Hotch is on a case in New Orleans. He can’t leave the area. Without permission. Until they’ve made at least a modicum of progress. Which they can’t seem to do. Because his team members. Are all running in different directions. Instead of working together. He’s about had it up to here with their shit. And my shit too. He is of the opinion that the timing of my departure. Is a childish attempt. To garner his attention. By running away from home. AGAIN. This could not be more. Profoundly inconvenient and annoying,” Reid related in a hyper staccato of words. 

“Is he angry with you?” Spaulding asked slowly.

“He is insanely. Angry with me,” Reid breathed, paused, and breathed again. He was struggling to pull himself under control. 

“He’ll get over it,” Amy promised calmly. “What’s our first step when we get to Greenville?” 

“First we check into a hotel. Then you two will lay low. While I will meet with a representative. Of the local police department,” Reid replied. 

“Understood,” Spaulding answered.


	4. Chief Sudbrink

4 - Chief Jack Sudbrink

 

Jack Sudbrink, Chief of Police for Greenville Maine, sat back in his chair and stared hard across his desk. A gaunt young man was seated there, wrapped in a wool sweater, a medium-weight jacket, and a gray and purple scarf. When Dr. Spencer Reid had first walked in around lunch time, Sudbrink has assumed the young man was a college professor or an art student. He did not expected him to produce Virginia driver’s license or an FBI badge, or for him to being carrying a gun. The weapon was stowed in his satchel, but the outline was visible in the soft, supple leather. The last thing Sudbrink needed today was trouble, but he knew from the moment he had been invited to plant his skinny butt-bones in the rickety guest chair that this young man was nothing but trouble. 

The middle-aged police chief cleared his throat, heaved a sigh, and leaned forward once more, in order to rest his elbows on his messy desktop. He wished his uniform wasn’t pulling tight across his shoulders as he moved around. The other man’s thinness made Sudbrink self-conscious about his own size, and undeniably hungry. His stomach growled. He wanted lunch. 

"Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, Chief Sudbrink?” 

“You don’t actually expect for me to believe that the FBI sent you all the way from Washington, DC to Greenville, Maine to investigate the disappearance of a missing cat, do you?” 

“Actually, sir, the Bureau did not send me. I am not here in any official capacity. I am on medical leave at the moment.”

“I see.”

“This is not official Bureau business. I am here doing a favor for a friend. Searching for her lost cat. I am not here to conduct an official Bureau investigation.” 

“Is this friend named Joyful Noise Lovelace?”

“Erm…..yes?” Reid admitted. Sudbrink appreciated the honesty. Reid had looked surprised and curious at learning what Joy’s full name was. 

“As many times as I’ve seen that picture of that cat, I would recognize her in my sleep. I feel for Miss Lovelace, and for her sister, but the facts are what they are, Dr. Reid. Glory Hallelujah Lovelace is a grown adult who has every right to pick up her cat, pack her bags, and disappear into the sunset if she so chooses. There’s not a damned thing in the world her big sister Joy can do about it. I’m sorry they fought. I’m sorry if Joy blames herself for Glory leaving. But Joy is going to have to give me proof positive that her sister didn’t disappear of her own accord before I can open a case on Glory, and even declare her missing, let alone declare her an endangered adult. Am I making myself clear?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Long pause. Reid and Sudbrink studied each other. 

“I’ve been over this with Joy I don’t know how many times,” Sudbrink muttered. “Joy came through here in November because Glory’s clunker of a car was found deserted in the grocery store parking lot. I’ve kept the car in the police impound lot, by the way.”

“Greenville, Maine is the last place. That Glory Lovelace’s existence can be substantiated. This is the most logical place to begin my search. Though Joy could not give me a reasonable explanation. As to why her sister would have come here in the first place,” Reid said. 

“There was a boyfriend who was going to school in Vermont.”

“Go on,” Reid pleaded. 

“That’s why the sisters fought. Joy didn’t want Glory coming up here to see the guy, but Glory came anyway. From what I gathered talking to him back in November, the surprise visit did not go as planned.” 

“Oh,” Reid murmured. He had a bad feeling about this. 

“The boyfriend had been engaged to a girl in Vermont at the same time he was dating Glory in DC. Why didn’t Joy tell you this?” 

“I’m not sure,” Reid admitted. 

“I checked out the kid’s story. He readily admitted that Glory had come to visit him. When he told her that he was getting married, Glory was devastated. He insisted they could still be friends, but that didn’t sit well with Glory. It only made her that much angrier with him. She accused him of leading her on. She left Vermont that night, and two days later, she drove through here, presumably on her way to I-95 to head back to DC. Although why she didn’t head south while she was in Vermont and pick up 95 there, I don’t know. There were a couple brochures in her car about scenic locations in Maine. Maybe she was looking to find a quiet place to stay for a couple days, get herself together before going back to DC. We get lots of tourists during the fall – the foliage and everything. I don’t know why Glory came here, Dr. Reid, and I don’t know where she’s gone.”

“This is the last place she was seen. And it is where I will begin my search. But I didn’t want to be conducting a search in your jurisdiction. Without telling you what I was doing,” Reid explained. 

“I appreciate the professional courtesy.”

“I’m not here in an official capacity,” Reid reiterated.

“I understand. Dr. Reid, do you know how many young women go missing in the United States every year?” 

“Sadly yes, I do.”

“Good. Then you’ll understand why I don’t jump to my feet and call out the National Guard every time a college girl decides she’s had enough of her over-bearing family and decides to cut out on her own. I have enough to do around here without being expected to strap on a superhero cape and go rushing to the rescue, especially when it isn’t clear that anything has actually happened to the person in the first place. Like I said, I’ve spoken with Joy Lovelace, on the phone, by email, in person. She came up here to Greenville in November, and I did look into her sister’s absence at that time. But there wasn’t enough evidence to support opening a case.”

“But you kept her car in the police impound lot? Why?” Reid wondered. 

“You ever have a bad feeling you’re going to need a piece of evidence, so you don’t throw away even the slightest scrap of paper connected to a case, even if it’s not a case?” Sudbrink asked.

“Yes,” Reid nodded. “But if you did not have enough evidence to open a case on Glory’s disappearance, why keep her car?”

“I was erring on the side of caution, keeping the car. Joy couldn’t afford to pay the impound fee herself, and she couldn’t very well drive two cars back to DC. The tow service was going to auction the car for fees unpaid, so I gave Matt the fee, and had the car towed to the police impound lot. It’s not hurting anyone sitting there.” 

“You do feel there is more to this case than meets the eye,” Reid almost smiled. 

“What I feel and what I can prove are two different things, Dr. Reid,” Sudbrink almost smiled back. 

“You must be aware that Glory Lovelace’s phone records indicate. That she and her sister spoke or texted each other between twenty and thirty times a day. When they were both in the Washington metropolitan region. However, since Glory left DC in late October, she has not texted or phoned her sister once.”

“Yes. I’m aware. Glory is mad at Joy. She’s not talking to her. That’s a pity, but it’s not a crime.”

“You must also be aware that Glory Lovelace’s bank account. Was cleaned out on October 21. At an ATM at the grocery store at First and Maple, the store where her car was found.”

“Yes. All sixty five dollars.” 

“After that, the account went dormant. There have been no transactions in the last four months.” 

“Yes. I know that too.”

“The Social Security Administration has shown no activity on her number since October. No employment. No taxes. No withholdings.”

“I know.”

“It would be virtually impossible for Glory to stop using her phone. Let along stop using money or credit cards. In the span of time between November and February.”

“Dr. Reid. I am aware.”

“You’ve been monitoring her situation?”

“Unofficially, yes.”

“Joy gave me a list of all of Glory’s account passwords and personal data. They shared a home computer because Glory couldn’t afford one of her own. I have accessed all of Glory’s personal information that is available. Though I confess that I am puzzled why Joy did not mention the ex-boyfriend.”

“I know you want to be helpful, Dr. Reid. But playing into Joy Lovelace’s fears about what might have happened to her sister is not the way to go about this.” 

“I agree. The last thing I want to do. Is heighten Miss Lovelace’s concerns for her sister’s safety. Neither, sir, do I want to downplay those concerns, and tell her she’s got nothing to worry about. You and I both know that this case has every hallmark of an adult in jeopardy.” 

“It does. I know. While it is possible that Glory Lovelace has changed her name and her identity, it is far more likely that she has met with foul play. I have daughters.”

Reid glanced around at the photos behind Sudbrink’s desk. Two daughters appeared over and over again at major points in their lives: first step, first day of school, prom, and graduation for one daughter. There were two pictures of Jack and his wife: their wedding photo, and both of them posing with a tiny bundle. Surprisingly, there were also pictures of the police staff and their families. Reid spotted the receptionist who had greeted him at the door, and her son, a stocky lad around ten. It was an old picture though, judging from the difference in hairstyles. There were shots of a different deputy holding up a big fish and smiling. There were also shots of the day deputy who had lingered by the door wanting to come in the office. He was recently married, within the last year or so, judging from the clothes. Sudbrink’s staff was like family to him. That was a good sign, Reid decided. 

“You can’t pry that damned phone out of their hands for half an hour for dinner. There’s no way Glory would stop using hers for this long. I know what sisters are like when they fight too. No matter how mad they get with each other, eventually the dam breaks, and they find a way to work past whatever they were fighting about,” Sudbrink was saying while Reid studied the pictures. 

“Yes?” Reid asked hopefully. 

“My girls, they fight a lot. I know how it is. This silence between Joy and Glory has lasted too long. My instincts agree with you, Dr. Reid. But I can’t open a case, and allocate police time and effort, based on my gut feelings. There’s nothing I can do about Glory’s disappearance until I have proof that she has actually disappeared. How much more clear can I make that?” 

“I understand that you can’t do anything without further evidence. That’s where I can help you.”

“Oh really?” Sudbrink murmured dryly. 

“If I can bring you proof positive that Miss Lovelace has met with foul play. That she has not disappeared of her own accord. Will you then agree to investigate her case?”

“Yes, I will. Happily. It will make it my top priority.”

“Do I have your permission to canvass the town? Ask about Glory?” 

“I thought you were looking for Glory, not her cat.”

“I will post flyers asking for information about Josie. The truth is, Chief Sudbrink, people are far more likely. To have noticed a stray cat. Than they are to have noticed a stray young woman.” 

“Sad but true. Knock yourself out, Dr. Reid. But remember what I said. I need proof positive that Glory Lovelace is actually missing, or there is nothing me or my officers, or any of the officers from the other jurisdictions around here, can do. It’s not fair. It’s not right. But it is proper procedure. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, Chief. It is very clear.”


	5. Wile E. Coyote

5 - Wile E. Coyote

 

By evening, Reid was putting up ‘lost cat’ posters all around Greenville, with the Empress Josephine striking a very glamorous pose, her bejeweled collar and six-toed front paws prominent in the shot. Reid had put his temporary cell phone number on the flyers, and he had papered as much of Greenville’s main street as he could in the failing light. It was around four-thirty when his cell phone rang. Reid dabbed the inch of tape off his finger and onto the diner window, and put the last flyer to its place. 

“Hello?” he answered his phone. He turned away from the window because there was a couple sitting at the table, staring out at Reid. It was creepy and unnerving. 

“Hi, Papa,” Jack said on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Jack,” Reid smiled, moving over on the sidewalk for a woman and her two children to walk past him. “How did your math test go?” 

“I aced that bitch,” Jack crowed. 

“Jack….” Reid chided, smiling in spite of himself. 

“Sorry.”

“I’m glad you did so well, but language, language, Jack. How are Aunt Jess and Uncle Jerry doing? How are the cousins?” 

“I’m not at Aunt Jess’s. I’m home. Daddy’s making dinner.” 

“Oh? Daddy’s back from New Orleans?” Reid gulped. 

“Yep.”

“What’s he making for dinner?” Reid asked. 

“He’s making spinach pie.” 

“Spanakopita,” Reid corrected gently. He could hear Hotch in the background, saying the same word slowly and carefully. Reid’s stomach grumbled loudly, and his mouth watered. He didn't like creamed spinach, but there was something about Hotch's cooking that made everything palatable, even spinach. Spencer could almost smell the scent of garlic and herbs that must be wafting all over the butt-ugly blue kitchen. Reid could picture Hotch by the stove, still in his white dress shirt and dark slacks, with his sleeves rolled up, and his face a little red and damp from the heat. 

Reid’s brain provided an exact recollection of how Hotch’s spanakopita had tasted like the last time Aaron had cooked it. The dish had melted on Spencer’s tongue, pungent with spinach and spice, gooey with cheese, crunchy with phyllo dough layers. He remembered how Hotch’s fingers tasted. Long after he had finished cooking, long after he had washed his hands again and again, the spices and the tang of the garlic had remained. Spencer cherished the memory of sucking those fingers to muffle his cries, watching the heat in Hotch’s dark eyes. They had been making love on the couch in the TV room after Jack had gone to bed. Reid had been planted in Hotch’s lap, his bare knees digging into the leather on either side of Aaron. Reid’s shirt tails had teased his front and his rear as he rode Hotch, panting wantonly as he convulsed with pleasure. He could almost feel Hotch’s other hand digging into his hip, his cock buried deep inside him. 

Maybe this was not the most appropriate line of thought while on the phone with Jack, Reid decided, leaning back against the icy window to dampen the heat climbing through his body. 

“Spana-koo-pee-ta. Yeah, that’s it,” Jack confirmed. 

“Is he there?” Reid asked breathlessly.

“He’s right here,” Jack whispered.

“Did he ask you to call me?” 

“Nope,” Jack grinned. 

“Is he standing over you, making grabby hands for the phone?” Reid wondered. 

“Yes,” the youngster cackled. “Dad, why are you following me? I thought you were mad at Papa. I thought you didn’t want to talk to him. Why are you chasing me around the dining room? I’m running for the STAIRS!!!!” Jack wailed. 

Somewhere along his path, Jack dropped the phone. But his dramatic shouting and laughing was audible in the background as he hurried away, presumably towards his room, because a door slammed a second or two later. The situation was pretty clear now. Jack had dialed Reid of his own accord and not on Hotch’s command. 

“Very funny, Jack. So incredibly funny. Ha. Ha. Ha,” Hotch muttered as he retrieved the phone and put it to the side of his head. He was hurrying back down the staircase, his big feet thumping along. “SPENCER REID! You are in so much trouble,” Aaron breathed dangerously into the receiver.

“Hi, Hotch. You’re back from New Orleans?” Reid asked, picturing the disgruntled expression on Hotch’s face. 

“We were pulled from the case,” Aaron admitted. 

“You were what?” Reid blanched, feeling Hotch’s embarrassment. 

“Strauss pulled us off the case.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hopefully Schultz and his team can make better headway than we were making. It’s for the better. We weren’t doing anyone any damned good there.”

“I’m so sorry, Hotch,” Reid repeated softly. 

Another woman passed by Spencer on the sidewalk. Reid stood up and leaned against the street lamp to get out of her way. Snow was falling. Large, lazy flakes whirled around him to the ground. A cold wind made Reid shudder, whether with premonition or a simple chill. 

“We’re all supposed to convene in Strauss’s office tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. I’ve got a seriously bad feeling about this meeting,” Hotch continued. “I’d like for you to be here.” 

“Sorry, I…..I wish I could. I’ll be home early tomorrow night, unless there’s a development in the case,” Reid replied. 

“Case? What case? Jack said you were there looking for a friend’s cat.” 

“Um, technically yes and actually no.” 

“Reid, you shouldn’t be doing this. You’re on medical leave. You are not allowed to work. You’re supposed to be resting, and going to physical therapy, and getting yourself together,” Hotch ground the words out in a gravelly growl. He was thumping a heavy pot around on the stove in the background. 

“I promise not to exert myself.” 

“Reid, find the fucking cat, and try not to get hurt, okay? Promise me you won’t get hurt again.” 

“I promise,” Reid whispered. “I will call later. I want to get inside. It’s getting cold here. The temperature is dropping.”

“It’s Maine in early February. Of course the temperature is dropping,” Aaron teased tenderly. “Please be careful.” 

“I will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Hotch. Goodnight.” 

Reid put away his cell phone and trudged back along the sidewalk, towards the lot where he had parked the rental vehicle. He paused for a moment when he saw a long, tall shadow up against the SUV. Someone was waiting for him, dressed in a green flight suit and a brown bomber jacket. It was Chief Master Sergeant LaFlamme.

“Dr. Reid,” Brett said, extending a hand as Reid carefully made his way towards the lot. Spencer wasn’t sure if LaFlamme meant to shake his hand or keep him from falling on the dodgy surface. 

“How are you?” Reid asked, shaking the man’s hand. LaFlamme shook Reid’s gaunt talon, but also cupped his other hand under Reid’s elbow and guided him across the uneven asphalt and fallen snow. 

“I was hoping Amy would be with you.”

“No,” Reid smiled slightly. He glanced back over one shoulder, and thought he might have spotted Ensign James standing over by the diner window. Reid wasn’t sure how much detail Spaulding had given her friend about her job, so he didn’t want to say more than he should. 

“It’s you I needed to see, actually.”

“How can I help you?” Reid asked. LaFlamme leaned against the front of the SUV and hiked a boot up on the bumper, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“The training mission caused a bit of excitement this morning. My CO asked about the haz-mat and emergency response. I gave him my report. He talked with the other CO’s at the base. The MP CO asked about you. She recognized your name.”

Reid struggled to hide his involuntary cringe. He opened the driver’s door.

“Why don’t we talk inside?” Reid suggested, unlocking the rest of the doors. LaFlamme was up and in the vehicle before Reid could get one leg in, let alone close the door. Brett was studying him skeptically. Reid shivered, started the engine, turned on the heater, and watched the snow continue to fall. He breathed into his hands to warm them, and waited for LaFlamme to speak.

“I checked out your bona fides, Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Oh,” Reid replied grimly. “I am on medical leave. The Bureau did not send me. I am technically not allowed to be here on a missing person’s case.”

“I know. I get it. That’s why you’re putting up lost cat posters,” LaFlamme grinned. “Are you for real? I mean, Wile E. Coyote, super genius. Youngest agent ever in the Bureau. Youngest agent ever in the Behavioral Sciences Unit. Three doctorates, yadda yadda. What the hell are you doing, slumming on a missing person’s case?”

“I am helping a friend.”

“Like I said, I read all about you, and I saw the articles about what happened in November. You’re lucky to be alive. My guess is, this isn’t so much about a missing cat, as it is about proving you’re ready to go back to work. You care about the cat, I’m sure, but you need to know if you can do the job still.” 

“You would not be incorrect or unfair in that assumption,” Reid nodded. 

“What if I told you that there is more than one missing person around here? Would you be interested?”

“Yes,” Reid perked up. 

“One of the cadets has a sister went missing after she came to see him in Bangor. There’s another guy, a friend of mine, whose wife went missing back in ’06. We had a cadet go AWOL in 2009, and she hasn’t been seen since. I thought these women might be connected to your case. One missing college girl and her over-protective sister aren’t going to get much attention. But three other missing women, with no connection to each other, other than the fact they all three vanished from this area, that makes more of a case, wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, it does. If I can prove the facts merit an investigation, the Greenville Police Chief has promised to open a case,” Reid said.

“I know Jack Sudbrink. He’s a good man,” LaFlamme replied. “Why can’t you conduct an investigation yourself?” 

“I cannot investigate cases while I am on medical leave.”

“Technically speaking.” 

“Yes.” 

“Will you at least speak with the families?” 

“Of course.”

“Good. They’re waiting back at the base. I…um…would you mind if we took my car?” LaFlamme asked, watching Reid attempt to coordinate his cane, the gear shift, and the three pedals of the manual transmission. 

“That would perhaps be more prudent, considering the weather conditions, the uncertainty of the loose precipitation on the roads’ surfaces, and my lack of familiarity with the local highways,” Reid agreed. 

LaFlamme hopped out of the blue SUV. Reid killed the engine, climbed slowly out, closed the door, and set the keys on top of the vehicle. 

LaFlamme watched Reid, and kept looking back at the keys as they walked towards the camouflaged Jeep which waited nearby. Brett unlocked his vehicle on the passenger side, and waited for Reid to climb in. He closed the door behind him, careful not to slam it on his foot. 

The lights on Reid’s rental came on, and the engine turned over. LaFlamme glanced back, then stared at Reid, waiting for him to be concerned. Reid shivered but said nothing. Brett hurried around and climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“Someone’s taking your car,” LaFlamme offered quietly. Reid glanced back over his left shoulder. 

“It’s okay. The Ensign is a better driver than I am. He’ll be able to keep up.” 

“I’ll tell the guard at the gate to let him through,” LaFlamme replied. 

“Thanks.”


	6. Terry Haverty Letourneau

6 - Terry Haverty Letourneau

 

“Am I in trouble?” 

Reid looked up from his page of notes, and offered a reassuring smile to the young man across the table from him. LaFlamme had driven Reid to the base in Bangor, through the gates, and to the MP facility. He had walked him past the front desk, pausing long enough to return the salute from the two soldiers there. LaFlamme led Reid directly back to the brick, windowless room which served as the MPs’ interrogation box. It was tidy and tight, like the rest of the base. Military clean and very sharp. The walls were painted a faint yellow. The furniture was not new, but it was well-maintained, without a nick or a scratch. There was the requisite one-way mirror. Reid wondered how many people were standing on the other side watching.

“No, Mr. Haverty. You are not in trouble,” Reid replied. 

“My CO said you wanted to talk about Terry.”

“Yes,” Reid beckoned, putting down his pencil and leaning back in his chair.

“Is Terry in trouble?” the young man asked, scratching at his close-cropped black hair and narrowing his blue eyes. 

“No,” Reid said. Then he waited. Haverty shifted his shoulders and scooted his chair back and forth, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. “You may speak freely, Mr. Haverty. There is no need to be cautious in what you say to me,” Reid soothed.

“Are you a cop? Do I need a lawyer? Am I in trouble?” 

“If it would make you more comfortable. To have someone else in the room. A lawyer or a confidante. By all means,” Reid agreed. 

Not a millisecond later, the door burst open and banged back against the wall. It took every ounce of Reid’s self-control not to recoil at the sound. A striking woman in her mid-forties with dark hair and a tiny chin entered, tugged her uniform jacket down in front, and levelled a gaze at Haverty. The young airman popped to his feet like he had been released from a jack-in-the-box.

“Lieutenant! Ma’am!” Haverty exclaimed. 

“Airman, I am not your mother. I am not going to sit in this room and hold your hand while you answer Dr. Reid’s questions,” the officer barked sternly. Reid’s eyes crossed the lieutenant’s bars on her collar, and her name plate on her front: Bonifant. He did not dare let his eyes drop further than her name plate. He feared she might smack him if he did. 

“No, ma’am!” Haverty blurted. 

“How many times does he have to tell you that you aren’t in trouble?” 

“But, Lieutenant ….”

“Airman, I want you to sit yourself down in that chair, and cooperate with whatever Dr. Reid requests of you. He came all the way from Washington, and you’re wasting his time. You’re wasting my time too. Do you know what’s going to happen if you continue to waste my time?” 

“No, ma’am,” Haverty cringed. 

“If you continue to waste my time, I’m going to find creative ways to waste your time. Do you want that?” 

“No, ma’am.”

“Good,” Bonifant barked. “At ease, Haverty. Sit down. Talk.” 

Haverty let his stone-stiff shoulders drop. Bonifant pulled up a chair from the far wall and took a place next to Haverty at the long, narrow table. 

“Please continue, Dr. Reid,” the Lieutenant beckoned. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid answered, not as crisply as Haverty had, but with the same tone of obedience. “Airman Haverty, please tell me all of the details about the last time you saw your sister Terry.” 

“Terry and her husband Al lived in Presque Isle. Terry would pop down and visit me now and then when she could get away. I didn’t see her very often. Al didn’t like for her to come see me. He used to slap her around if she did anything he didn’t like. She wanted to divorce him, but she didn’t want to divorce him, you know? He kept her comfortable, gave her just enough money that she didn’t have to work. She was basically there to take care of his house and cook his meals. That’s the only reason he kept Terry around, and he told her that all the time. Never missed an opportunity to tell her she was lucky to have him. Never missed an opportunity to beat on her either. October 2011, Terry called me on a Friday night, said she would be stopping through on Saturday, on her way to Philly. She had had enough. She was leaving Al, and she was going to stay with friends.” 

Haverty would have kept on talking, but he needed to pause for a breath, and he clearly wanted the last sentence to sink in. Reid listened, watched, and took notes. While Reid was perfectly capable of remembering everything the young airman might tell him, it put people at ease if he wrote down as much of what they said as possible. It gave the impression that what they were saying was indeed important, and their words were being taken down for the official record. If Reid sat and merely listened, people tended to believe he wasn’t taking them seriously. By taking copious amounts of notes, Reid wanted to convey to Haverty that he was taking this situation very seriously. 

“What day in October?” Reid asked. 

“The 14th, I think. Saturday morning, she was here by 8. We had breakfast on the base. She looked like hell. Al had worked her over. She had a bandage on her nose, stitches in her lip. She had called me from the emergency room Friday night. I didn’t find that out until later. Al had beaten her for no goddamn reason, and she had finally had enough. She was finally leaving him. After breakfast on the base, Terry gave me a hug, gave me her friends’ number in Philly, and headed for the bus station. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”

“Weren’t you concerned when you didn’t hear from her?” Reid wondered. 

“I was concerned, but she had her reasons. Al was livid when she left. He stormed down here to the base Saturday night, thought he was going to beat me until I told him where Terry was. Big man, always swinging a fist and screaming at people. He got his ass tossed off the base, and I haven’t heard from him since either.”

“Do you think he followed your sister Terry to Philadelphia?” 

“No. Al wouldn’t go that far. He doesn’t like big cities. Too many people. He doesn’t even like to come to Bangor. He would have sat in Presque Isle and waited for her to come back, like one of those spiders that sits in its hole with the web over the trap door.”

“Has Terry been in contact with Al since she left?” 

“Not that I know of.”

“With anyone else in your family?” 

“No. Mom hasn’t heard from her either.” 

“Did you contact the friends in Philadelphia?” 

“No,” Haverty admitted. 

“Why not? You must have been concerned after a certain amount of time had passed,” Reid commented. 

“I didn’t know these friends, and I wasn’t comfortable calling them up. Terry went into hiding for a reason. You don’t know my sister,” Haverty defended, casting a careful glance at his lieutenant. Bonifant was watching him carefully. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It isn’t the first time Terry left her husband. Or took off to stay with friends. Never the same friends either. It wasn’t her first marriage that ended badly. I thought…. You know? I thought it was like all the other times. She’ll go away a while, get herself together, come back in a few months with a new man in her life. It will be okay, for a while, until he starts beating on her too. It happens over and over again,” Haverty explained, his voice beginning to take on a small, sad whine. 

“Her behavior was not unusual?” Reid asked softly. 

“No. Terry is a magnet for abusive assholes. But on the other hand, she is never alone for long. Mom has told her over and over again not to jump into another relationship before she’s ready, that she doesn’t need a man in her life. But then again, Mom used to do the same thing, but I don’t know why she’s surprised Terry does it too.” 

“The cycle repeats,” Reid murmured softly.

“There were guys before Al, so I figured there will be guys after Al, and that is none of my business. But it’s been a long time, and I haven’t heard from her. A few weeks turned into a few months. A few months turned into a year. I’m worried, Dr. Reid, but this is Terry’s personal business. I hope to hear from her, but that is her life, and I’m sure she’s fine. I figured if she wasn’t fine, I would have heard from her or from Mom.”

“Did you file a missing persons’ report on your sister?” Reid asked softly. 

“No.”

“Why not?” 

“She’s in hiding, Dr. Reid. What if I did file a report, and some stupid son of a bitch actually managed to find her? His first move would probably be to tell her husband where she was, wouldn’t it? Because the law doesn’t do shit when it comes to protecting women from abusive husbands. Even after all he’s done to Terry, Al is still considered her primary family member, ahead of her siblings or her parents. If anyone finds Terry, Al would be the first person they would tell. I didn’t want to take the chance of blowing up her new life.”

“Good point,” Reid agreed. “Would her husband Al have filed a missing persons’ report?” he asked. Haverty shrugged helplessly.

“He might have? If he got tired of eating frozen TV dinners. Or else he would have moved on to the next woman he could push around.”

“We’ll check with the Presque Isle Police Department,” Lieutenant Bonifant said. She glanced back at the one-way mirror, and Reid was sure that whichever subordinate officer of hers was standing over there was now leaping into action to follow her unspoken order. 

“Would you feel comfortable being present while I question Terry’s husband?” Reid asked. Haverty shook his head no emphatically. 

“Al will never talk if I’m there. He hates my guts, and the feeling is mutual. He’ll clam up, because it’ll be a matter of pride with him. If he knows we need information about Terry in order to find her, he’s not going to tell us one fucking thing.”

“Understood,” Reid nodded. “Would it be possible to speak with your mother?” 

“It’s possible, but I wouldn’t believe a damned thing that comes out of her mouth. She’s a goddamn drunken liar,” Haverty warned. “Is that all you need from me?” he shivered. 

“I need a better physical description of your sister. A picture would also be helpful.”

“Like, what do you want to know?” 

“Height, weight, age. Hair color. Eye color. Her clothes. Did you take a picture that day when she came to visit? Was she travelling alone to Philadelphia, or was she travelling with someone? If she didn’t have a car, how did she get between Presque Isle and Bangor, let alone to Philadelphia? I need to know who the friends in Philadelphia are. You said she was headed to the bus station. What did she have with her? A suitcase? A purse? A cell phone? A laptop? Any distinguishing characteristics about her that would make her memorable? Forgive me for asking, but did Terry have any medical anomalies?”

“Medical what?” 

“Tattoos? Fillings? Broken limbs? You mentioned a history of spousal abuse. Did she have scars? Did she have any particular old injuries which would make….”

As Haverty stared at Reid, the airman’s eyes swelled up large, and filled with tears. The seriousness of the situation was setting in on him. 

“You want to know if there’s anything that would make her stand out, if you find her remains?” Haverty whimpered. 

“Yes,” Reid admitted. 

“Oh fuck,” Haverty breathed. “You think she’s dead?” 

“Mr. Haverty, I apologize. I don’t mean to seem unfeeling. I merely want to be prepared for all possibilities,” Reid stammered. 

“No. I know. It’s your job. But I just…..fuck,” Haverty murmured again. 

“Take a deep breath, Billy,” Bonifant said, patting him on the back.

“She’s not dead, okay? Terry’s not dead. Terry looks like me,” Haverty sobbed. “She’s got dark brown hair, blue eyes, and she’s… you know… like me. Only, you know, a girl. But she’s not dead.” 

“Thank you. You’re free to go,” Reid said, continuing to jot down notes. 

Bonifant guided Haverty to his feet and walked him for the door. Reid could hear Billy crying loudly in the outside corridor.


	7. Sissy Whitman and Cadet Shaw

7 - Sissy Whitman and Cadet Shaw

 

Reid was writing notes when the door opened again. LaFlamme entered, looking grim. He was leading another man along. This soldier was older, late-twenties, early thirties. He was a contemporary peer of LaFlamme’s, and not one of his cadets. It was clear from the interaction between them that they were friends. 

“Do you need Bonifant to come back and hold your hand?” LaFlamme asked. The second man coughed up a faint chuckle, sitting down in the seat across from Reid. 

“Fuck you, man,” Whitman muttered in mock anger. LaFlamme grinned, snatched up the third chair, turned it around, and straddled it. The two of them sat and watched Reid writing. 

“Dr. Reid? What do you think?” Brett asked. 

“I will know more about the situation with William Haverty’s sister once we speak with the Presque Isle Police Department,” Reid hedged. “I would also like to speak to Mrs. Haverty, if possible, in spite of Billy’s concerns about her veracity.” 

“Doc, I read your bio. You’ve been chasing serial killers and psychos for more than a decade. What does your gut tell you?” LaFlamme demanded. 

“My gut feelings can’t secure a case. Only the facts can do that,” Reid smiled faintly. “We need to stick to the facts.” 

“Haverty was pretty shaken up,” Whitman commented. “Are you gonna make me cry too, Doc?”

There was amusement to the soldier’s tone, and Reid played off of that gentle humor, because he knew that Whitman was using his humor as a shield. Reid didn’t want to deny him his wall of defense. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you,” Reid promised. Whitman grinned in reply. It was absolutely absurd for a man like Spencer to be saying such soothing things to a soldier who could have lifted him up from his seat and choked him lifeless with one hand. 

“Where should I start?” Whitman asked. 

“At the beginning,” Reid beckoned, wondering why everyone always asked the same stupid question. 

“Okay,” Whitman answered, and took a deep breath. “June 2006. I got transferred from Robins AFB in Georgia up here to Bangor. Robins. That’s south of Macon. My wife Sissy was not happy.”

“About the transfer?” 

“She was from Georgia, born and raised there, and she didn’t want to leave her family or the state. She was not happy to have to come with me to Bangor.”

“Go on,” Reid nodded. Whitman took a deep breath. 

“We fought like hell the first day we got here. Kept on fighting for weeks. It never got any better. It was a miserable summer. Sissy was under the impression that if she pouted and held her breath and dug in her heels, that I could snap my fingers and get myself sent back to Robins, and all would be right with the world. But you and I know that’s not how the military works. You go where they send you. They own your ass.”

Reid nodded in agreement. 

“So, Sissy and I…. She was not happy, and she was making me not happy. I spent more and more time on the base so I didn’t have to be home, listening to her complain about everything. I got off late on a Friday in mid August, and I headed home. Except when I got there, the house was empty. No Sissy. I waited up a while watching TV. Midnight. One. Two. No sign of her. Okay, I was enjoying the peace and quiet, but I love my wife, and I was getting worried. So I called the cops, and I called my CO, and he called the MPs. I called her daddy in Georgia. I talked to her cousin in Louisiana. I called her baby sister in Maryland. I even talked to her flamboyant, black sheep brother in California, on the outside chance that Sissy got a hair crossways and flew out to see him. Nothing. Nobody had heard from her. Nobody had seen her. Her car was gone. Her purse was gone. She was gone for good. No note. No kiss-my-ass. No nothing.”

“You filed a missing person’s report,” Reid asked. 

“Dr. Reid, I filed a civilian police report, and I filed a military police report as well. Neither one panned out. A few weeks later, I got served with legal papers. Sissy had filed for divorce. That’s when I stopped looking. I figured that was that.”

“I sense there is more,” Reid murmured. Whitman was staring at Reid intently.

“I felt uneasy.”

“Yes?” 

“I can’t explain it. A disturbance in the Force, I guess,” Whitman chuckled.

“What made you uneasy?” Reid wondered. 

“The signature on the divorce papers wasn’t Sissy’s.” 

“What?” 

“Sissy was professional calligrapher. She hand-wrote wedding invitations, these gorgeous keepsakes you put in the wedding album and save as family heirlooms. There’s no way the chicken scratch scrawled on the divorce papers was my wife’s handwriting,” Whitman explained. 

Reid sat back in his chair and blinked at Whitman. 

“Who do you think signed the papers?” Reid asked. 

“I figured it must have been her daddy. He hated me from Day One. Never changed his opinion. He was always protective of his girls, creepy overprotective in my opinion. Maybe that’s a Southern thing. Her parents were always butting into our marriage, always telling her what to say, what to do, how to ‘handle’ me. I assumed Sissy’s old man had been the one to sign the papers for her.”

“Is that even legal?” LaFlamme wondered. 

“No,” Reid replied. “It’s not.” 

“What was I supposed to do? Sissy was gone. She wanted a divorce. I wasn’t going to get her back, no matter how much I still loved her. I let her go. Does that make me an idiot? I should have seen there was more to it,” Whitman rambled. He paused for a sad exhalation, and all the humor left his face. 

“Her family has never tried to contact you?” Reid wondered. 

“No, but they did hire a private detective to follow me around for a couple years.”

“When?” 

“Between 06 and 09. He had to stop then. Hard to tail a man when he’s sent to Afghanistan,” Whitman laughed bitterly. 

“Do you have your copy of your divorce papers? Also a sample of your wife’s handwriting?” Reid replied. 

“Yeah. I can go get those for you,” Whitman answered. “Anything you need from me, Dr. Reid, I’m here to help. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let Sissy down. I was so focused on my career and on making a go of it here in Bangor that it didn’t matter how unhappy she was. That was wrong of me. I loved my wife. I still love her. I thought I could demonstrate that love best by letting her go so she could start a new life without me. I agreed to that divorce because that’s what Sissy wanted—to be rid of me.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Ron,” LaFlamme interjected. 

“Easy for you to say, fuckhead. Six years of marriage down the drain. I’ll pop over and get those things, and be right back,” Whitman said. 

“I’ll be here,” Reid promised. 

LaFlamme and Whitman stood up in unison. Brett escorted Ron out of the room, chatted with him for a moment in the hallway outside. A few seconds later LaFlamme returned, closing the door. Brett sat down again, this time across the table from Reid. He watched Spencer’s hands dancing over the page as the doctor scrawled copious notes. 

“What’s our next step?” Brett asked. 

“Contacting the Presque Isle Police Department. Seeing if the husband Al is willing to speak about his wife Terry’s disappearance. Contacting Mrs. Haverty. Contacting Sissy Whitman’s family in Georgia, Louisiana, Maryland, and California.”

“You’re gonna need some help. You can’t do this all by yourself. Have you had dinner yet?” LaFlamme wondered. 

“No,” Reid shook his head. 

“You sit tight. I’ll bring you something. Here.”

“What is this?” Reid asked as he opened the file and saw a female soldier’s young face peering back at him. 

“Cadet Catherine Shaw. She’s been AWOL from Bangor since 2009. No note, no kiss-my-ass, no nothing, as Whitman said. She was in one of my students my first year teaching.” 

Reid perused the scant information, and glanced up at LaFlamme.

“When was she last seen?” 

“Shaw was last seen at dinner on the night of October 20th, 2009.”

“Did anything unusual happen that day? Tell me about Cadet Shaw.” 

“She was a hard luck kid. She went into the military to get away from a bad home life. But she’s wasn’t cut out for the military. Unpolished. Too hard around the edges. She didn’t like taking orders. She couldn’t do anything right. It wasn’t for lack of trying. God knows, Doc, I watched her try and try and try. But if you pushed too hard, she eventually pushed back at you. No respect for authority. She wasn’t military material, and I told her so, not in so many words.”

“That day?” 

“Doc, she was my responsibility, and I failed her. I would consider it a personal favor if you could look into her disappearance, even if none of these other cases turn out to be cases. It’s been eating at me, knowing I said the words that made Shaw pick up and go.”

“What did you say to her, exactly?” 

“I thought I was being cruel to be kind, but in the end, obviously, it turned out to be simply cruel. I told her she needed to consider other life options outside of the military. She was flunking out here, and she was getting mixed up with the wrong crowd off base. She was getting back into drugs and alcohol, and she was headed for a discharge. I was hard on her, Doc. Too hard. Tough love isn’t always the answer. My words struck the wrong nerve, and she left.”

“I will add her to the list.” 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Chief Master Sergeant, you do realize that the fact you’re being so helpful, injecting yourself into this investigation, this does bring you to the forefront of possible suspects, if this turns into a case, which it appears to be heading that direction,” Reid said slowly and carefully, praying that the words didn’t result in awkward pauses, tripped up words, or a fist in the face. 

Brett LaFlamme took in the statement, and he warmed up a wicked grin. 

“Dr. Reid, I confess. I do have ulterior motives. Beyond finding out what happened to Cadet Shaw, I figure the longer you’re around, the longer Amy’s around. The longer Amy is around, the happier I am,” LaFlamme replied. He thumbed over his shoulder towards the mirrored window. “Don’t worry. I’ll get your shadow some dinner too.”

“I need to contact Jack Sudbrink at the Greenville Police Department,” Reid said. “I will also need access to any missing persons’ reports from the surrounding areas which fit parameters similar to these disappearances.”

“Lieutenant Bonifant said that Pearlman and Hays at the desk will get you whatever files you need,” LaFlamme said on his way out the door.


	8. Drunk Dial

8 - Drunk Dial

 

Reid glanced at the clock on the hotel nightstand. It was 1:00 a.m. He should have been asleep. He should at least have been tired. But instead, his senses were tingling with excitement. His many-flowered bed coverlet was awash in pages of notes, copies of official military reports, copies of police incident reports, and pictures of the fourteen women who had disappeared in the near hundred-mile radius with Greenville at the dead center. This radius included two countries, several lakes and wilderness areas, state parks, national parks, and endless acres of private property which might serve as potential dumping sites. Spencer was sorting the missing, first by the circumstances of their disappearances, and second by their physical characteristics. The single most important fact which stood out to him was that there were too many missing women for this to continue to be considered a non-case or a massive coincidence. Luckily for him, Sudbrink and Bonifant had both agreed. 

Reid should turn in, get at least a few hours of sleep. At eight a.m., Chief Sudbrink was going to issue a state-wide bulletin, asking for other jurisdictions and citizens at large to call a hotline number if they had any information about the missing or presumed-missing women from the combined military and civilian list. Sudbrink had asked for Reid to be there, in an unofficial capacity of course. Spencer should try to rest, but his mind was not going to allow any sleep at this point. It kept reeling off facts and statistics and data back to him, spilling the detailed information back and forth between the two halves of his brain until everything stacked together neatly. He was too keyed up to sleep. 

Reid’s burner cell phone vibrated in a wild circle on the nearby dresser. He bounced up off the edge of the bed and made a clumsy dive for it. 

“Hello? Dr. Spencer Reid here,” he gasped, landing awkwardly on the floor. His tailbone throbbed. He sat on the floor on his knees, rubbing his butt bones, recalling his recent conversation with Jack about when humans had had tails. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid…..,” Hotch drawled slowly and dizzily. Reid was more than a little alarmed at the tone. Aaron sounded drunk—not ‘a couple fingers of good scotch’ drunk. Hotch sounded ‘an entire bottle of Kentucky bourbon and several cheap beers’ drunk. 

“Hotch? What are you doing awake?”

“What, indeed?” Hotch slurred. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer worried. 

“Strauss is gone,” Hotch moaned. 

“Strauss? Gone?” Reid echoed. 

“Gone,” Hotch confirmed. 

“Missing gone? Vacation gone? Not answering her phone gone?” Reid wanted to clarify before he got emotionally involved in the concept. Too soon to celebrate, too unreal to feel sympathy, too little information yet gathered. 

“I got a phone call at 10 p.m. No meeting tomorrow with Assistant Director Erin Strauss,” Hotch relayed. 

“That’s good,” Reid said, thinking to himself, ‘considering your current condition’.

“Reason being, there is no longer an Assistant Director Erin Strauss.”

“Did something happen to her?” Reid fretted. Hotch cackled uneasily.

“You have no idea, do you?” 

“Idea about what?” Reid persisted, beginning to grow a tiny bit annoyed. 

“Reid, she’s gone.” 

“In what sense of the word?” 

“Strauss is no longer an assistant director. She’s no longer at Quantico. She’s no longer with the Bureau. They had to get rid of her because of the fallout from what she said to you, in public, in front of witnesses. The homophobic things she said at the restaurant? The person who called the hotline went to the press. It’s all over the papers here. It’s likely to go nation-wide soon. The papers haven’t mentioned your name, or mine, but they sure as hell mentioned Strauss’s name. She’s too hot to handle now. Too much of a PR nightmare to keep around. She was offered a transfer to the Omaha office or the New Orleans office. She said no. She said more than no. She told them to stick it where the sun don’t shine. She tendered her resignation. She’s taken early retirement. She’s gone.” 

“So your morning meeting was cancelled?”

“No. We all have to report as per the previous arrangement. But the meeting isn’t going to be with Strauss. Everyone has to be at the office in the morning, to meet with our new section chief, and I was told that meeting should include you.”

“Oh,” Reid said softly, his heart in his throat. There was no way he could be back in DC by morning, let alone back at Quantico. How in the world was he going to break that news to Hotch? “Aaron, what about this situation made you angry enough to go home and get smashing drunk?”

“I’m not smashing drunk.” 

“You are very drunk,” Reid corrected firmly. 

“I had a couple drinks.” 

“Clearly you have had more than a couple drinks,” Reid scolded. 

“My mom called,” Hotch wailed. 

Reid’s only response was a soft whimper.

“She found out about us. You and me. The wedding. The marriage.”

“How?”

“Garcia.”

“What?!”

“Garcia was nagging me, wanting to plan a party. I told her she could do one for Valentine’s Day. It was going to be a surprise for you.”

Reid mentally calculated that Valentine’s Day was not more than a couple weeks away. Just far enough away that he could work himself into a serious, gut-gnawing frenzy at the terror of having to go to a party. 

“Friends and family, I said. Nothing special, I said. A little reception. I told her she could send out invitations to family and friends,” Hotch continued to ramble. 

“Penelope included your mother on the invitation list?” 

“Yes, I have no idea why,” Hotch breathed. “My mother called this evening to RSVP.”

Part of Reid wanted to offer the hopeful interpretation that Mrs. Hotchner was RSVPing because she wanted to turn over a new leaf and repair her relationship with her oldest son. He wanted to tell Hotch that Mrs. Hotchner might be offering an olive branch of peace. But the rational part of Spencer’s brain knew that was a fantasy that would never happen. Hotch was well aware that his mother attending their reception was going to lead to nothing short of an apocalyptic confrontation in front of all their friends and various family members. For a man as private as Aaron Hotchner was, the prospect of having a verbal sparing contest with his icy, unloving mother in front of all their acquaintances was unbearable. No wonder he had drowned himself in drink at the very idea of what awaited him. 

“Hotch, I’m so sorry,” Reid murmured. 

“No. It’s my fault,” Aaron mourned. “I should have known better.”

“Known better about what?” 

“I should know better. But I get stupid every now and then, and I reach out for a small piece of happiness. Fate, she is always there, ready to smack my face and remind me,” Hotch rumbled. “Fate hates me. She hates me, Reid, almost as much as my mother hates me.” 

Reid was working on a soothing reply when he heard a clicking on the line. Call waiting, he knew. God damn it. Horrible timing. 

“Hold on a second, okay?” Hotch pleaded. 

“I’ll be right here,” Reid promised. 

Hotch clicked the button, and Reid waited in silence. He walked over to the bed and poked through the details laid out over the coverlet. Although he was anxious to delve deeper into so many aspects of this investigation, Reid was more concerned about Hotch and his current psychological state of mind. If that meant he had to walk away from the tempting mystery spread out on his bed, so be it. It would be hard to walk away, but Hotch came first. It would kill Reid to have to walk away from the puzzle before it was complete, but if he had to, he had to. 

Reid spent an anxious ninety seconds waiting for Hotch to return, second-guessing himself, the universe, and everything. When Hotch came back on the line, he cleared his throat and sounded surprisingly sober as compared to a minute and a half ago. At least he was no longer wallowing in self-pity. 

“Reid, are you there?” Hotch asked. 

“I’m here, sir,” Spencer replied, matching Hotch’s suddenly-stern, back to business, no nonsense, no frivolity tone. Reid wasn’t going to mess with that tone. He was surprised by the change though.

“Stay where you are. The team will be in Maine by 7:30 a.m. We will meet you at the Greenville Police Department by 8:00 a.m.” 

“What?” Reid stammered.

“The FBI has received an official request to join the search for several missing women in the area.”

“You have?” Reid quivered. “An official request?”

“It came in an hour ago from Chief Jack Sudbrink from the Greenville Police Department.”

“Oh,” Reid whispered excitedly. He knew Sudbrink was going to coordinate with Bonifant, but he did not know Sudbrink had planned to call the FBI too! 

“The mountain is coming to Mohammed,” Hotch added. 

“Actually, sir, the correct translation of the original Arabic phrase is ‘If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain’. But I fail to see how either the correct translation or the popularized mistranslation applies to our current circumstance,” Reid bubbled happily. 

“Reid,” Hotch laughed softly, brightly. “God, I’ve missed you. We’ll see you in seven hours. I can’t wait to kiss you.” 

“Wait. ‘We’? You’re bringing the whole team?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Reid’s disappointed sigh went unnoticed, as Hotch was already gone.


	9. I Want In

9 - I Want In

 

“In conclusion, let me reiterate. If you have any information about the women that we have mentioned here, any information at all, no matter how insignificant you may think it is, please call the hotline. Please speak with the officers or agents. If you don’t want to talk by phone, you can speak with us in person. Come down to the police station in Greenville, or go to the police in your local jurisdiction. You may speak to someone anonymously if you’re concerned about your safety. We have consolidated a multi-agency task force. We need the public’s help in this investigation. If you or anyone you know has any information about these women, please contact us at the numbers on your screen. These missing women are important. They do matter. These are wives and mothers, daughters and sisters, friends and lovers. We want to locate all of them as quickly as possible. Thank you very much for your help.”

Aaron Hotchner had not expected such an impassioned plea from the local LEO in Greenville, Maine. He found Sudbrink’s all-out enthusiasm for the case refreshing and inspiring. It had been a long time since complete cooperation had been foremost in the minds of the local jurisdiction where his team was setting up. It helped that Sudbrink had met the team at the Greenville Municipal Airport with a friendly handshake and a relieved smile. It also helped that Sudbrink had spent the entire drive back to the station talking about how impressed he was with Dr. Spencer Reid. 

According to Sudbrink, Reid was already at the stationhouse when the police chief had arrived at 5 a.m. The doctor had been given an empty office, and a white board, and in two hour’s time, he had turned a few pages of notes and reports from the local jurisdictions and the Bangor Air Base into a detailed examination of each missing woman. 

A band of local and regional reporters had convened to hear Sudbrink’s press conference. They were crowded in the main room of the police facility. When Sudbrink finished speaking, the reporters started peppering the man with questions. Hotch took this opportunity to walk over behind the fray, carefully keeping his back to the cameras. Aaron got Reid’s attention. Sudbrink had insisted Reid must be on-hand for the press conference in case there were any questions he himself couldn’t handle, although by Hotch’s opinion, Sudbrink appeared to be a very capable police officer and leader as well. 

Hotch was motioning for Reid to come over to his side of the podium so they could speak, something they had not yet had the opportunity to do because Hotch had been busy with Sudbrink, and Reid had been hiding in the small office with all his notes. Spencer had been inordinately shy and tentative about letting anyone see his notes too. He had jotted all the relevant information on the board, but considering the copious amounts of paper stacked in the files, Hotch knew the info on the board wasn’t the half of what Reid had already compiled about the case. Reid was quietly limping towards Hotch when another question rang out above the inharmonious din of microphone feedback, clicking camera shots, and whirring machinery. 

“Jack? Can you tell us how a missing cat is connected to this case?” 

The question had been tossed out by a cub reporter for the Moosehead newspaper. Hotch hadn’t meant the term ‘cub reporter’ in a derogatory manner. The portly, scruffy, college-age young man was wearing a red-plaid winter hat with ear flaps, and a red-plaid coat to match. ‘Cub reporter’ was the first thing that popped into Hotch’s mind when he saw the kid and got a look at his hat. 

“Mike, there’s fourteen missing women, and you want to talk to me about a cat?” Sudbrink smiled jovially. They must have known each other, Hotch surmised.

“Yeah, I wanna talk about the cat. She must be important. Somebody papered all of Maple Street with these flyers,” the reporter replied, folding one out, holding it up, and pulling it back down again. “I tried the number, but didn’t get an answer. It went straight to voice mail.”

Hotch watched Reid reach down into his front pocket, retrieve an unfamiliar phone, and turn red. He clicked a switch on the side, and tucked the phone away once more. His blush faded to a mottled mask. 

“Mike, if this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny,” Sudbrink chided, but the reporter interjected again.

“It’s not a joke. I know where the cat is.”

Reid whirled around at the words, and almost fell over. If Hotch hadn’t been there, Reid would have face-planted on the concrete floor. There was a chorus of muffled snickers and giggles as Hotch steadied Reid, taking the opportunity to rub Reid’s shoulder and slide a hand around his back. 

“Step over there and speak with Dr. Reid, will you? He’s the one looking for the cat,” Sudbrink replied. “Are there any other questions?” 

The cub reporter anxiously shoved his way through the crowd in order to get to the edge of the group where Hotch was murmuring to Reid. 

“How was your flight?” Reid asked. 

“Fine,” Hotch rumbled. 

“How’s your hangover?” 

“It feels like someone whacked me with a sledgehammer. Thanks for reminding me.” 

“You’re welcome,” Reid smiled. 

“Dr. Reid?” Mike the cub reporter approached Hotch and stuck out a hand at first. He quickly changed his mind though, and retracted the limb. “Nope. You don’t look like a doctor or a Reid. Wrong guy. You’re Dr. Reid,” he said, sticking his hand at Spencer instead. 

“Nice hat,” Hotch rebutted. 

“It’s my lucky hat,” Mike explained haughtily. 

“You recognized Josie?” Reid asked point-blank. 

“Oh no. It’s not gonna be that easy, Dr. Reid. Before I say a word, I want in.”

“What?” Hotch rumbled. The squint in his dark eyes, caused no doubt by his pounding headache, only added to the intensity of the infamous Hotchner Death Glare which he was giving Mike the cub reporter. Reid couldn’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for the kid, who blundered bravely forward nonetheless. 

“The deal is this: I want exclusive coverage of the case for the Moosehead, or I’m not telling you what I know.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hotch bellowed, perhaps louder than he might have wished. The bank of television and photographic cameras swung towards him like an electronic monster with several mismatched eyes. Sudbrink burned with embarrassment and amusement both. Reid fought not to crack even the smallest smile at the expression on Aaron’s face. Mike the cub reporter crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at Hotch. 

“Exclusive coverage for the Moosehead, or I’m not helping,” Mike insisted. 

Aaron put a hand up to block the eye of the camera which shot forward from the others and zeroed in on the testy exchange. Aaron gave the reporter a stare which warned exactly where he was going to shove her microphone if she didn’t get it out of his face. 

“Look here, Michael Charbonneau,” Hotch growled, grabbing the cub reporter’s press corps tag, and then releasing it with a quick snap. “Are you familiar with the term ‘obstruction of justice’? Would you like for me to spell that for you?” 

“Tit for tat?” Reid offered the kid, pairing the words with a ghastly, thin smile almost as cold as the wind that gushed through the front entrance of the station as more law enforcement personnel made their way inside. The young reporter’s eyes lit up with hope even as he shivered. 

“Oh, wow. Definitely yeah,” Mike nodded eagerly. 

“Walk with me,” Reid motioned. Hotch fumed at the kid as Reid led him away to the empty office which was serving as the staging area for all their accumulated information. Reid closed the door to the office, and flipped the board over in order to protect the details he had mapped out so far. Mike closed the blinds and shut out the rest of the world. 

“Hotch, what is this all about? Why are we here?” Morgan asked as the reporters returned to peppering Sudbrink, and he resumed his calculated responses. 

“This better be about more than a missing cat, or I’m gonna plant my foot so far up Reid’s ass,” JJ muttered angrily. 

“Reid is not the reason we’re here,” Hotch replied. 

“Oh, he isn’t?” Jareau muttered some more. "Why isn’t Reid at home in bed where he belongs, ‘convalescing’?” she added with fingers crooked into quotes. 

“Perhaps you would like to take this conversation further away from the news cameras and microphones?”

Hotch’s team jolted in surprise as the next voice came across their shoulders into the tight huddle they had assumed. She guided them towards the small hallway lined with pictures of Greenville police officers who had retired or died in the line of duty. Hotch noted that one of the more prominent photographs was of the previous Chief Jack Sudbrink, who had died in the line of duty in 1970.

“Dr. Lind,” Hotch said, turning sideways, allowing her to lean in. His team had worked briefly with Dr. Lind when she had been a part of Frank Schultz’s BAU team. The two units had shared responsibility for the as-yet-unresolved Edward Trovinger case. Technically, that cold case belonged to Schultz and his team, although that hadn’t stopped Hotch from hounding everyone about it as if it were his own. 

Schultz’s team was currently in New Orleans, working on the child serial killer case that Strauss had taken away from Hotch’s team yesterday. However, Dr. Lind was in Greenville, Maine with Hotch and his team, because last night she had been selected by the Brass to be Erin Strauss’s replacement. Dr. Lind was the new section chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, an assignment she had neither asked for nor felt comfortable in accepting. But accept it, she had. 

“The reason we are here, Agent Jareau, is because we were invited to help with a multi-agency task force in the search for fourteen missing women. Exactly as Chief Sudbrink said. We are here because we were invited to help in a jurisdiction that does not have the manpower or the financial resources to carry out an investigation of this magnitude. Thank your lucky stars that the local LEO has no problem whatsoever recognizing that he can use our help. Do you have a problem with this assignment, Agent Jareau?”

“No, ma’am,” JJ answered. 

“Good. Agent Hotchner, I need to speak with Dr. Reid the millisecond he’s done with Jimmy Olsen in there. Snag him, and don’t let him get away.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I need to reinstate Reid before we get any further into an official federal investigation here. I don’t want us to go through all this trouble only to have some bastard get off on a technicality because that the initial investigator was not, in fact, allowed to be conducting an investigation.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hotch barked. 

“Agent Morgan, your background is with the bomb squad, but also with obsessional crimes?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Morgan replied. 

“I’d like for you to work up a victimology assessment for each of the missing women. Tell us whether or not this unsub is stalking the victims before he takes them.” 

“Right away,” Morgan agreed.

“From the glance I had at Dr. Reid’s board in there, he may have already started, which is why it is imperative that I talk to him before anyone else gets too far into this. Let’s get our ducks in a row. Agent Jareau? You were a media liaison before becoming a profiler, yes?” 

“Yes,” JJ ground out the words. 

“You are the most qualified to ride herd on the reporters, and oversee the compilation of any leads that come through from the hotline.” 

“With all due respect, Dr. Lind, I’m not a media liaison anymore. I’m a profiler. I prefer to profile, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Understood,” Lind nodded without missing a beat. “I’ll handle the reporters myself in that case. Agent Torgeson? Do you have any experience fielding calls on tip hotlines?”

“A little,” Karl answered shyly. 

“Coordinate with the Greenville Police Department’s receptionist and with the personnel that the Maineiacs sent over from the 101st. That group of kids in camouflage over by the copy machine. Sorry. They’re not kids. I didn’t mean to be ageist. They’ll show you the ropes.” 

Torgeson shot Hotch an uncertain look and headed off in the direction that Dr. Lind pointed. 

“Rossi? Blake? If anyone comes into the police station with information on any of the missing women, I want you to speak with them. Rossi, you have the most experience with personal interviews. Don’t butt heads with the locals or anyone else. We don’t have to be first in line to speak with anyone, but we do need to have our chance to speak with them. We all know that in cases like this, it’s not usual for the unsub to attempt to take an active, participatory role, to get as close as possible, to watch our investigation, or to misdirect our lines of inquiry.” 

“Understood,” Dave agreed. 

“Where do you want us to set up?” Blake asked. Dr. Lind’s shrewd eyes went directly to the office where Reid was holding his super-secret meeting with Mike the cub reporter. She frowned, and shook her head, as though she were having second thoughts. 

“Ask Sudbrink if he’s got another office we can use. Too many ears in the wide-open here. I want to keep the pertinent details under wraps until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Rossi and Blake headed away in hopes of snagging Sudbrink the minute he was done answering questions for the television reporters. 

“What do you want me to do?” JJ asked, a hint of impatience showing through. 

“Agent Jareau, you made it clear that you prefer to profile. As soon as we are in a position to profile, I will have a specific task for you. In the meantime, help wherever you’re needed.”

“Doing what?” JJ frowned. 

“Chip in wherever help is needed,” Dr. Lind reiterated. She exchanged a glance with Hotch and invited him to walk with her towards the small office where Reid was speaking with the reporter. 

“It’s generally the job of the SAIC to assign tasks to the team,” Hotch ventured when they were alone. Lind nodded in reply. 

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” she promised. 

“What do you want me to do?” Hotch asked as Lind knocked boldly and loudly on the office door. 

“I want you to stop swearing like a sailor in front of news cameras. That’ll be a good start, Agent Hotchner,” Dr. Lind mused in a firm but friendly manner. The office door popped open. Reid poked his head out. 

“Come in. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Are we good?” Reid asked to the other man in the room.

“We’re good,” Mike the cub reporter grinned, closing up his notebook and stuffing it quickly into the backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll see you at Connie’s. Do you need directions?” 

“I will find her house,” Reid promised, studying the small hand-drawn map before folding the piece of notepaper and stuffing it into his sweater pocket. 

“Bye,” the kid piped excitedly as he rushed between Hotch and Lind and raced for the police station entrance. 

“I need to get busy,” Reid bubbled, flipping the white board back around and tidying the items which had slid left or right, up or down. Dr. Lind put up one finger, and shook it back and forth in time with her head. Her black and gray hair swirled sideways, touching her chin and disappearing back again to the side. 

“Dr. Reid, stop.”

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Do you know why I’m here?” 

“The only reason I can surmise. That you would have been ordered to come to this location. Is that you have replaced Erin Strauss as Assistant Director of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” 

“You would be correct.” 

“You were sent because I have overstepped my bounds. And the limitations of my medical leave. I suspect you are either here to reinstate me in my position. So we may proceed with this investigation with all four wheels on the ground. Or you mean to permanently remove me from my FBI position,” Reid stammered, turning a sad face on Dr. Lind and blinking big eyes at her. Lind wasn’t unmoved, but she wasn’t overwhelmed either. She paused for a tight smile. She reached inside her briefcase and handed a folder to Reid. 

“Reid, kill the Bambi eyes, right this second. You are hereby provisionally reinstated to the Bureau, and to the Behavioral Analysis Unit, in a probationary status which will be reviewed again in fourteen days. If you have your badge with you…”

“I do.”

“Good. Carry it on your person at all times. You may not, however, carry your weapon until you have passed firearms requalification.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid nodded quickly. He retrieved his satchel, opened the flap, and handed his weapon to Dr. Lind. She frowned at the firearm, and stuffed it awkwardly into her briefcase. It occurred to Reid that Dr. Lind was not wearing a weapon. Perhaps she wasn’t comfortable with guns. 

“During your probationary status, Dr. Reid, you are limited to office work. Desk duty only until I say otherwise.”

“But….” Reid pouted. Dr. Lind raised her finger again, and pointed it right at him.

“You will not go into the field in your current, compromised, physical condition. Is that clear, Dr. Reid?” 

Reid scowled in reply. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I want you to help coordinate the leads that come in through the hotlines, and work with Agent Morgan on the victimology. We need to find a connection between these women. What kind of deal did you and Charbonneau work out?” 

“If we have details we can print concerning the investigation, I will call him first. If we need to limit what details are released, he has promised to cooperate. If his research yields details that we do not have, he will contact us at once.”

“Good. You may use him to our advantage. However, you will not step foot outside this police station to follow leads without my permission. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Abundantly clear,” Reid echoed, giving Hotch a look which accused him of being the person who had insisted on the limitations that had just been placed on Reid’s return. For his part, Hotch could hardly hold back his happy smile. He couldn’t hope to hide the relief that flooded his body and soul. 

“You can go with Charbonneau to meet Connie about the cat. That’s it. Once you speak with Connie, I want you back in this police station, in this office, at this table, in that chair. Every time I look in this room, I want to see you.”

“Understood.”

“If leads from Charbonneau or Connie might bear fruit for our investigation, you will pass them off to someone else to follow up on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid was pouting again. 

“Good. Welcome back. You’ve been here at least a whole day. Can you tell me where I can get a decent cup of coffee in this town?” 

“There’s a diner down the street a couple blocks,” Reid offered shyly. 

“Fine. Good. Terrific,” Dr. Lind replied, giving a small celebratory smile. She had apparently been as nervous about the situation as Reid had been. That was somehow comforting to Reid. “Agent Hotchner. Come with me. We need to talk.” 

“The station house has pretty good coffee,” Hotch said. He didn’t want to leave yet. He wanted to talk to Reid. He needed to talk to Reid. 

“Agent Hotchner? Now. Please?” Dr. Lind pleaded. 

“Bye,” Hotch whispered to Reid. 

“Bye,” Reid whispered back.


	10. Service With A Smile

10 - Service With A Smile

 

“Good Morning,” the hostess beamed as Hotch and Dr. Lind entered the crowded diner. It looked as though every reporter who had been at the station house for Chief Sudbrink’s press conference had reconvened down the street afterwards in order to put together their first story. 

“Good Morning,” Dr. Lind replied. 

“Help yourselves to a seat. A waitress will be with you in a moment,” she replied. The cook, the cashier, and the two waitresses were sprinting around. There was one small booth free in the back. Hotch and Lind headed for it, and slid into the red, squeaky benches. Maybe Hotch was imagining things, but he felt as though every eye in the place turned and landed on him and the new section chief. 

They did make an odd couple. He was in his usual somber ensemble, from his gray and red boxers out to his dark gray trench coat, which he removed and folded into the seat next to himself. The only hint of color on Hotch was his red and gray striped tie. Dr. Lind was in her mid-fifties with black and gray hair and an average build. She favored tweed suits, and button-down shirts, and sensible shoes. She wore a wedding ring and a pearl and sapphire heirloom ring. Hotch wondered how old the second ring was as they took their seats and he noticed her hands. Dr. Lind put her briefcase into the seat beside her and delicately set her jacket elbows on the damp tabletop. She folded her hands together and gave Hotch an awkward smile. 

“Agent Hotchner? Let’s skip the pleasantries and get right to it. You and Erin Strauss butted heads for years. She made no secret of her dislike for you, seeing you as a dangerous threat to her own job security. I have no intention of repeating that pattern with you or either of the other two unit chiefs in the department. I mean to have you three eating out of my hand within a week.” 

“Good,” Hotch agreed amiably. Had Dr. Lind reinstated Reid as a peace offering to Hotch? 

“I’m surprised, but I’m not surprised, how this has all played out for Erin.”

“I know,” Hotch murmured. “Her departure doesn’t seem quite real yet.” 

“You don’t have to pretend sympathy for me. It must be a relief for her to be gone. She tried for years to destroy you professionally. When that didn’t succeed, she decided to take on your individual team members, thereby hoping to discredit you as a leader and supervisor. Much the same way she set up Bernie Rabovsky to fail with the Cryptology Department, giving her agents she couldn’t hope to control. I want you to know, I’m not going to be that kind of section chief.” 

“Good.” 

“The way Strauss treated Dr. Reid was inexcusable.”

“Yes, it was.” 

“I’m not saying that as lip service. I honestly feel your personal lives are your own business. As long as you don’t chase each other around your desks, or hash out domestic disputes into the office, I believe firmly there’s nothing more to say on the matter.”

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. I wanted to make that clear. If you two behave with appropriate comportment when you’re on the job, either in the office or out on a case, then we’ll all get along famously.” 

“Understood,” Hotch answered skeptically. He was waiting for the catch.

“It’s not like you two are the first Bureau agents to become romantically involved,” she added, giving a slight snicker. Hotch tested a small smile, and she cleared her throat. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to be barking up your ass on every case, criticizing your every decision, making your life miserable. I believe the best way to get this department, and your team, humming with efficiency is to make sure we work together towards a common goal: solving our cases.” 

“Good,” Hotch nodded. 

“You and I both know that if you weren’t playing ‘slap and tickle’ with Dr. Reid, you would have been the one chosen to fill Erin Strauss’s former post.”

“More than likely,” Hotch replied slowly. 

“This job should have been yours to refuse. I have no idea why I was selected for this position. I have never once intimated to my superiors that I wanted to advance to upper management,” Dr. Lind confided. “This isn’t me. I’m not boss material. I’m not comfortable being in charge. I’d rather be one of the team. I’m not one of those ambitious people willing to stab my fellow agents in the back and play the political game in order to further my own career. I liked the job I had. I liked profiling and analyzing, and bringing criminals to justice. I don’t want to spend my evenings and weekends chained to my desk, doing paperwork, attending budget meetings. I’ve got kids in college. I’ve got a marriage on the rocks. A sixty-hour, seven-days a week job is the last thing I need or want. 

“It’s not all bad. You do get a reserved parking spot,” Hotch attempted a small smile. To his relief, Lind chuckled. 

“Hotchner, I suspect it’s all your fault they picked me.”

“How do you figure that?” 

“Like I said, if you weren’t involved with Dr. Reid, you would have been the one chosen to take Strauss’s place.”

“Not necessarily.”

“How do you figure that?” Lind echoed. 

“You’re not ambitious. You’re not a back-stabber. You’re not a political animal. You have a life outside of your job. For a while at least, you are going to be occupied with learning the ins and outs of the position, and you won’t have time to covet the jobs of other upper management Brass. You are the complete antithesis of Erin Strauss, and I believe that’s why you were chosen for the position. You have only yourself to blame for being everything they want in a new section chief.”

“Hmmm. I suppose when you put it that way, it might not be entirely your fault. Damn you anyway,” Lind hummed, flipping open one of the menus on the table and squinting. She opened her briefcase and pulled out a pair of wire frame glasses. She perched them on her nose and studied the menu more closely. 

“Cheer up. You’ll still be able to profile and analyze. Except instead of using your skills on the criminals, you’ll be using them on your subordinate agents,” Hotch tested. 

“I suppose you think you’re being funny,” Lind murmured dryly. 

“Can I be honest with you, Dr. Lind?” Hotch sighed. 

“Please. Call me Simone.” 

“Simone. Playing, as you so eloquently put it, ‘slap and tickle’ with Dr. Reid? It’s made me to come a few pertinent realizations, not the least of which is that I don’t to spend my every waking moment focused on this job. Not any more. This job cost me my marriage, and it cost my wife her life. It almost cost me my son and my sanity. There was a time when I would have walked over my own mother’s corpse to have risen in the ranks of the Bureau, but not any more.” 

“What changed your mind?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“Life changed my mind. Love changed my mind. Knowing that I could do this job, and do a lot of good in this job, but also knowing that this job will go on without me if I drop dead tomorrow.” 

“Which apparently it can, because you have not had the best success rate lately.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Hotch mused grimly. “No, I’ll be the first to admit, I haven’t been at my best lately. It’s been difficult. I’m struggling to find a balance between my personal life and my professional life.”

“Hotchner, I can relate,” Lind shrugged. “The higher I climb in the Bureau, the prettier my husband’s secretaries get.” 

“I’m glad the Brass choose you instead of me to replace Strauss,” Hotch said plainly. “I don’t want my son to grow up thinking he’s second or third on my list of priorities. I don’t want Reid to ever feel that way either.” 

“Are you sure they know that?” 

“I’m going to make sure of it,” Hotch smiled faintly. “What sounds good?” 

“I’m debating about the seafood omelet. Is it too early in the day for shrimp?”

Hotch’s frown indicated it might be, but Lind carried on talking.

“I’m sorry Strauss’s last official act as assistant director was to pull your team off the case in New Orleans,” Lind said. “I know that hurt your pride.” 

“As much as that hurt, my pride should not supersede saving lives. Have you had any word on Tanisha’s whereabouts? Have Schultz and the others made any headway?” Hotch asked. 

“None. Frank promised he would call me if they did find her. You know how it feels. They can pull you off a case, but that doesn’t mean you stop caring about the people involved,” Lind replied. 

“Tanisha is eight years old, and she’s out there somewhere. It’s been thirty-six hours. We both know in all likelihood she’s already dead. But they can’t stop searching and hoping.”

“Understood. Hotchner, if it’s any consolation, your team wasn’t pulled because of anything you did, more what you couldn’t do. I read Strauss’s report, her reasons behind what she felt she had to do. It was more about the fact that your team is experiencing internal conflicts, and the tensions are interfering with their ability to get their jobs done. They aren’t pulling together. Everyone is pulling in different directions. It’s become less of a team and more of a free-for-all.”

“I’m not blind. I know what’s going on with my team,” Hotch grumbled. 

“Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger. You should have seen the chaos in our squad when Green retired, and the Brass chose Frank Schultz as the new team leader. He’s a kid. He’s so clean, he squeaks when you brush against him,” Lind confided. Hotch chuckled a little. “I like him though. The last couple of years with Green were hard. He was drowning in despair and cynicism, about the job, about life in general. Schultz and all his Boy-Wonder eagerness have been a breath of fresh air.”

“Yeah, I hear you. This job will suck the life right out of you if you aren’t careful.”

“Schultz is not perfect, but he’s learning. Thomas had it the worst, accepting Schultz as the new boss. Let me tell you. For a while there, I was worried he was going to get his ass kicked out of the Bureau. Aguilar took Thomas aside and had a little chat with him, and Thomas didn’t take that well at all, and neither did Schultz surprisingly. So Julian, he backed off, let them have at each other instead of trying to talk sense to either one of them. It came down to the usual pissing contest that happens when macho guys like Thomas are involved. It’s always a ‘mine’s bigger than yours is’. Schultz actually had to put Thomas on report before he got his attention, and made it clear he wasn’t going to turn tail and hide because Thomas was mad he didn’t get the unit chief job himself. Well, moral to the story, yours isn’t the only team with problems.”

“And?” Hotch murmured. The waitress hurried over with a couple cups and a carafe of fresh-brewed coffee. 

“Oh, bless you, my child,” Lind said. She poured a cup for Hotch, and a cup for herself. Hotch stirred in sugar and milk, but Lind did not. 

“What can I get you?” the waitress smiled. 

“A number seven?” Lind replied. 

“Seafood omelet, nice choice. And you, sir?” 

“Pancakes with two eggs, scrambled. Thanks,” Hotch replied. 

“Back with that in a few,” the waitress promised before the front door chimed again and she hurried away. 

Lind lifted her coffee cup and inhaled the aroma. She smiled and sighed as if she were truly, madly, deeply in love. 

“Aaron, I promise I won’t intervene in the problems you’re having with your team, until such time as I feel it’s beyond your control. I think you know what you need to do, but you’re hesitant to do so, because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. These are your friends, your co-workers. You care about them deeply. I understand that. But you’ve been patient long enough, hoping the problems will solve themselves. It’s time to say something, sooner rather than later.”

“How much time are you giving me?” Hotch asked. 

“There is no set time frame. I’m going to be evaluating every single one of your team members – not just Dr. Reid. At the point where I feel you have failed to act, and that failure to act impacts this investigation, then I will act instead. I will be clear and direct, and I will not spare anyone’s feelings. We’re all adults here, and we have a job to do. Do we understand each other?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wanted you to be forewarned. It’s not my intention to undermine your authority with your team. That’s the last thing I want. But it is my job to make sure that your team can work together efficiently towards a common goal, and if you’ve got people who aren’t cooperating, then you need to handle them, or I will.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Dr. Lind took off her glasses and tucked them into her briefcase. In doing so, she brushed against Reid’s weapon. She pulled it out, set it delicately on the table, and scooted it towards Hotch. 

“Here. You should hang onto this,” she said. 

“You don’t like guns?” Hotch wondered. 

“I don’t need to carry a pretend-penis to be able to perform this job,” Dr. Lind murmured. “I could write a book about federal agents and the psychology behind the weapons they carry.” 

Hotch pulled Reid’s gun off the table and put it into his jacket pocket, trying not to crack a smile. 

“No, I don’t like guns,” Lind added somewhat shyly. “Guns are for people who aren’t smart enough to negotiate.” 

“I don’t like paperwork, but sometimes, it’s part of the job,” Hotch replied. 

“Do you ever miss SWAT?” 

“Some days,” Hotch admitted. 

“I miss the classroom too some days, and then I come to my senses,” she smiled. 

“Why don’t you like guns?” Hotch asked. 

“I had a bad experience once.”

“Haven’t we all?” Hotch whispered. 

“I took a risky shot, and I wounded someone.”

“That can happen,” Hotch admitted.

“I wounded my victim instead of my suspect,” she added mournfully.

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“I wasn’t comfortable with firearms before, but after I shot Freddy, I didn’t have the stomach to carry a gun again. He almost died because of me.” 

“You started out in instructional services?” Hotch wondered. 

“Many, many moons ago,” Lind nodded. 

“Did you know Jason Gideon?” 

“Of course I did. The man was legend. I knew him from a distance, and thought it best to keep it that way.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“He was brilliant, arrogant, and almost always right. I was terrified of him.”

Hotch did laugh this time, loudly and genuinely. 

The waitress arrived with their plates, and slid them onto the table.

“Oh,” Dr. Lind purred, unwinding her flatware and digging in. 

“Thanks,” Hotch nodded to the waitress, who walked away smiling.


	11. Fire and Ice

11 - Fire and Ice

 

“So, Pretty Boy? You heard about Strauss’s resignation?” Morgan said as he stood behind Reid at the white board. “Ding, dong, the witch is dead.”

“I suppose so,” Reid whispered softly in reply.

“Someone finally managed to drop a house on Strauss,” Morgan joked, gingerly grasping Reid’s shoulders, and wishing he wasn’t feeling the young man’s bones in such vivid detail. 

Reid’s mouth twitched with a tiny, almost forlorn smile, but that was it. Morgan was disappointed to have received such a guarded reaction. From the time the team had arrived this morning, Reid had had his defensive walls up. He had actually avoided the team as much as possible. Maybe that was because it had been so long since he had felt like he was part of the team. Morgan wanted to make amends for that, wanted to do everything in his power to make Reid feel welcome in the fold, to let him know that his absence had been strongly felt. But Reid wasn’t letting anyone through his walls right now, and with good reason. Not everyone was being as welcoming as Morgan was. 

“Did you two ever consider what happens if the new head witch is even worse than Strauss was? Don’t break an arm patting yourselves on the back,” JJ snorted derisively from behind Morgan. She stood there with her hands on her hips. With help from the military and the local police, Reid had managed to secure quite a bit of information in a short amount of time—pictures, brief bios, the location and date where each woman was last seen. JJ wasn’t happy with the way he had organized the details though. She kept walking back and forth, frowning at everything she saw. 

“There’s no harm in basking in the moment,” Morgan answered. “It’s been a long time coming.” 

“Reid, why don’t you give us a rundown of what you think you have?” JJ requested. 

Reid glanced sideways when JJ stood next to him. He actually took a step away from her in the other direction. Morgan was not blind to the fact that the temperature in the room chilled by several degrees, and not because the door was open and the cold air was flooding in. Reid became even more guarded in JJ’s presence, icy and reptilian. JJ’s demeanor changed in Reid’s presence too. She didn’t move around so much as flounce about angrily, overtly expressing her resentment with dramatic sighs and head tosses and sassy remarks. JJ’s pretty face was pulled hard and tight, her eyes were brittle, and her mouth was pursed. She couldn’t hope to hide her contempt beneath that fake, nasty-nice smile she had plastered on her features. 

“What you see is what I have. You may draw your own conclusions,” Reid answered. 

JJ rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t even be here, Spence. Hotch almost had a heart attack in New Orleans when he found out you weren’t at home. It was bad enough getting chucked off that case because we weren’t making any progress, but you only added to his problems by making him worry about you. You should have stayed at home where you are supposed to be.” 

“Do you think there’s any chance we’ll be able to narrow down the missing list?” Morgan asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a professional direction instead of the personal direction in which it was careening. 

“Gabrielle Jenkins. Number seven. Does not fit the overall….” Reid struggled to relay his thoughts. The pauses in his words were more noticeable. 

“She’s the only African American in the group of missing,” Morgan chimed in. “Serial killers rarely cross racial lines. Although it is possible, it is highly unlikely. That would lead me to believe she is not connected to the others.”

“Precisely what I believe. But we cannot remove her. Until we have proof,” Reid answered. 

“Ignoring what I said won’t make me go away, and it isn’t going to change the truth. You shouldn’t be here, Reid. You should be at home, in bed, recovering,” JJ interjected. Reid turned sideways to face Jareau, staring down his nose at the petite woman as if she were a complete stranger that he was seeing whole for the first time. Maybe in a way, he was. 

“I would prefer to be home in bed. If that’s any consolation,” Reid replied. 

“Have you seen a mirror lately? You look like hell. I’m telling you this as your friend, Spence. Maybe it’s time you ask yourself if you might not be cut out for the demands of this job. After what happened in November, you’re lucky to be alive. Next time, what if you’re not so lucky? It might be time to admit you can’t do this anymore. If you don’t care enough about yourself to stop this madness before you get killed, then you should think about how much it would hurt Hotch if he lost you? Not to mention how upset Jack would be to lose you.” 

“JJ, knock it off,” Morgan insisted sharply. 

“Your concern is very touching,” Reid rumbled at JJ, his lips sliding sideways in a chilly smile that dripped with sarcasm.

“What do you mean by that?” JJ frowned, crossing her arms and glaring back. 

“Jennifer, I’ll be frank with you. My resumption of my position with this team has no bearing. On the surety and longevity of your position with this team. We are not in competition. You will rise or fall in this job. Based on your own strengths and weaknesses. Not by selling out. Your fellow team members for career advancement,” Reid said. 

“WHAT?!” JJ exclaimed, flushing bright red and stammered wordless syllables for a moment before she got herself under control again. 

“Reid!” Morgan gasped. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, or what you think you know. This isn’t about me. This is about you, Reid. You got us all dragged up here to Maine, and over what? A missing cat and a runaway college girl? We no more than got home from New Orleans before we get shipped off on another case!” JJ exploded defensively. “All because of you! You should be at home, in bed.”

“I had hoped that Riley’s team. Would be given this assignment. I didn’t want any of you. To have to come here,” Reid declared matter-of-factly. JJ flared up with anger again. Morgan simply looked wounded. 

“You don’t think we can handle this?” JJ barked. 

“No,” Reid said, and he did not elaborate. 

“What you should have done was given Hotch the details, and kept your ass at home. We could have handled this by ourselves. You didn’t have to fly up here and make us all look stupid,” JJ snarled. Reid’s eyes frosted over even harder. The cooler Reid got, the hotter JJ’s temper rose. 

“Jennifer, it has never been my intention. To make you feel inadequate.”

“Of course not, Spencer,” JJ smirked, pulling her head back slightly and to one side, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Guys, come on,” Morgan cautioned, stepping between Reid and JJ, taking them by an elbow each to pull them apart.

“That’s what this is all about,” JJ continued, ignoring Morgan’s gentle grip on her arm. “It’s what it’s always been about – proving you’re superior to everyone else. You and your ego can’t handle the fact that this team has gotten along fine since you left.”

“Considering the dramatic drop in closure rate. And the fact your inability to work as a team. Got you kicked off your last case. I would have to disagree with that. Self-aggrandizing personal assessment,” Reid answered.

“You know what? Fuck you, Dr. Reid! Go home! We don’t want you here! You don’t belong here any more! You never belonged here in the first place! If it weren't for the fact you've been fucking the boss......”

“That’s enough!” Morgan shouted, but the words were out there, like icicles hanging from the ceiling. Reid shut himself off emotionally. The way his face went blank was eerie. He slid his arm from Morgan’s grip, and faced the board again, leaning on his cane, taking another step away from Morgan and JJ both. 

Morgan stood between the two of them, and wasn’t sure what to do, or who to talk to first, or what he could possibly say to repair the situation. JJ rolled her eyes again and turned her back to Reid, facing the opposite wall and pouting openly. Spencer’s head slid downward until he was staring at his shoes. No matter how hard he fought to reign in and conceal his emotions, JJ’s words had hurt. They were like the scalding heat of a burn that ached even after the fire and flames were gone. 

“Dr. Reid?” The voice from the doorway startled all three of them. 

“Yes?” Reid faced that direction as he responded. 

Chief Sudbrink was pulling on a medium weight, brown jacket with the city name blazoned on the back and a star emblem on the front left chest. 

“Agent Hotchner asked me to give you a lift to meet with Connie Francis. About the missing cat? Are you ready?” Sudbrink clarified with a smile which he directed only at Reid. There was a hint of unexpected tenderness to his voice, somewhat similar to the way that Grand-dad John Brooks spoke with Jack Hotchner. Reid couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the change of tone in Sudbrink. How much of the unpleasant exchange Sudbrink had witnessed?

“Yes. Please. Thank you,” Reid answered. Spencer shouldered his satchel, held it to the side of his chest. He held his breath as he limped past Morgan and JJ without another word, almost as if he expected one or the other of them to lash out at him verbally or physically. His face was burning with shame, and his eyes stayed on the floor the entire time. 

Sudbrink held the door open wider to let Reid safely through. Derek felt a shiver run his spine as the local LEO levelled an unfriendly frown in Morgan and JJ’s direction. That look said it all. Sudbrink hated their collective guts. 

The second the office door closed, Morgan turned around to scold JJ, hoping to do so in a friendly tone which would not hurt her feelings or cause any more friction. She had been bitching and moaning from the minute they had met up on the tarmac at oh-dark-thirty this morning. Hotch had let her ramble unchecked during the plane ride, hoping she would get it out of her system by the time they got to the location. Unfortunately, JJ had continued to complain once they had landed, either about the early hour, or the cold weather, or all about the inconvenience they were enduring because of Reid. 

It wasn’t like Morgan was all that excited to be dragged from balmy New Orleans to frost-bitten Maine, all in a single twenty-four hour time span, but there was more going on that just JJ being mad about having another case so soon. She had been nothing but sass-mouth and bad attitude for some time now, amplified by Prentiss’s departure for London, and by Reid’s departure to Cryptology. While Reid had been in Cryptology, JJ had been all bravado and spunk, but she had struggled to keep her head above water in the new profiling job. Now that Reid had returned to Hotch’s team, JJ was completely beside herself. No one had been able to get through to her. Not even Hotch, not that he had gone out of his way to try. Someone needed to say something to Jareau, and Morgan thought maybe he might give it a shot. 

JJ anticipated Morgan’s maneuver, and moved quickly away. She went to the front of the white board, and sneered at the neat lines of print laid out before her. 

“JJ?” Morgan breathed. “What has gotten into you?” 

Jareau reached up, and tugged the first picture off the board with an angry snap.

“JJ!” Morgan hissed.

“What? It’s a mess! I’m going to straighten it up,” JJ barked back. 

“JJ, you shouldn’t be doing that,” Morgan urged. He looked nervously back towards the station house through the office window. The blinds were up, and everyone could see what was going on. Sudbrink was leading Reid outside, sliding a big jacket over Reid’s thin shoulders. The police chief paused at the double doors heading out into the cold winter morning where snow was coming down heavy. The LEO was frowning even more deeply. He exchanged a few words with his receptionist and his two deputies, all of whom responded with nods before casting disapproving stares towards the small office. Derek cringed as he heard JJ tearing more pictures off the white board. He couldn’t bear to turn around and watch what she was doing. 

Morgan stepped out into the main room of the station house. He was glad that Reid had not turned around and witnessed what JJ was doing. It was too late for the rest though, including Torgeson, who was following the clerks from Bangor around. Karl looked as embarrassed as Morgan felt. There was a veritable crowd beginning to gather outside the small office window, whispering among themselves. One of the Bangor group tapped on the glass. 

“Hey, lady? What are you doing?” the first soldier asked. He wasn’t an intimidating individual. Mousy. Thin. Timid. JJ was never going to listen to him.

“Buzz off,” JJ called back. 

“Sister, you need to get your hands off that board,” the second soldier ordered, pushing the door open and entering the small office. The second soldier was taller than the first young man, had wider shoulders, a muscular physique, and shorn-short carrot-red hair. Morgan surmised that the second soldier spent a lot of time looking out for the first one. 

“Mind your own business, flyboy,” JJ sneered, lifting the dry eraser and striping away Reid’s work in wide, brisk movements. 

“JJ,” Torgeson cautioned. Jareau flatly ignored Karl. Torgeson looked to Morgan for guidance, but Derek shrugged helplessly too. 

“It’s ‘flygirl’, thank you,” the soldier retorted. "Get your hands off the board." 

Now that she had said it, Morgan felt stupid that he hadn’t seen it before. Because of the cold weather, and the chill that hung in the station house, the soldier was wearing a camo jacket which concealed her small curves. However, Morgan should not have missed her feminine jawline and thinned brows. He thought to himself that if you put her in a dress and applied some makeup, that she would have been cute. Adorable even. Then he thought about how inappropriate that was, and felt ashamed of himself. 

“Dr. Reid put that information up there. You have no business taking down his work. Ma’am? I’m serious. You need to stop,” the soldier persisted. 

JJ did not stop. If anything, she swiped away Reid’s writing even faster. The soldier stepped forward. She was taller than JJ by several inches, and she carried about thirty pounds of muscle on her as well. The soldier had no trouble reaching around JJ. She put a hand on the top of the white board to steady it, and deftly plucked the eraser from JJ’s grip, like taking a toy from an unruly child. Jareau whirled around defensively and puffed up with indignation. 

“Do you have any idea how much shit you just stepped in?” Jareau growled. “Who do you think you are?” 

“JJ,” Morgan whistled between his teeth. Rossi and Blake had also rushed over, and were standing by Karl and Derek, watching in mute horror at the scene which was unfolding. 

“I’ll tell you who I am, ma’am. I’m the person who spent more than six hours going through mountains of computer records and military reports, copying and organizing the details about these missing women,” the female soldier replied. She pointed to the young man in uniform beside her, who blinking at her in undisguised adoration. “Hays is the person who spent an hour on the phone last night with the Presque Isle Police, securing a copy of their files on Terry Letourneau. Then he spoke with every other jurisdiction in the near hundred miles, and got their relevant missing persons’ files sent over too. We’re the clerks who sat up with Dr. Reid until after midnight last night, going over the facts concerning this case. What the hell have you done to further this investigation? Nothing but bitch and moan from the second you stepped into this building. What makes you think that you can come walking in here this morning, and in two hours’ time, know this case and its details so much better than everyone else here? Who the hell do you think you are, ma’am?”

“I’m a federal agent, that’s who I am,” JJ snarled back, flashing her credentials at the soldier. The redhead smirked in reply. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed? Maybe they should have given you a broom instead of a badge,” the female soldier laughed. She pushed the board up against the wall, and turned to face JJ again. 

JJ tucked her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders in order to look bigger and tougher than she actually was. It was pointless though. If push came to shove, Morgan knew this would be over in seconds. This was the real world, and not a staged tv cat-fight. This solider lived and breathed military combat training on a daily basis. Knowing she was no match physically for the female soldier, JJ attacked with her mouth instead of her hands. 

“Bitch, I will toss you off this case so fucking fast if you don’t back your ass up,” JJ snarled as the soldier loomed closer to her.

“Oh, I am so scared of you,” the soldier taunted. 

JJ was studying the solider for an opening. The soldier smiled broadly. She read JJ’s actions the second Morgan had, which confirmed to him that the soldier had had defense training, perhaps a lot of it. JJ was screwed if punches started flying. 

“Go ahead, civilian,” the soldier invited. “I’ll let you have a freebie. You can take the first swing. But then I’m going to wipe the floor with you.” 

“Break it up! Both of you! Now!” Morgan ordered as the double doors to the station house opened. 

Agent Hotchner and Dr. Lind came strolling through, bringing a billowing cloud of snowflakes with them. Their happy, relaxed smiles disappeared in a millisecond when they realized what was going down. 

“At ease, Pearlman!” LaFlamme barked as he came around the corner from the coffee room. Why he hadn’t intervened any earlier, Morgan wasn’t sure. He was rushing in now to pull his charges back in line, before Hotch stormed over and started laying all the blame on the military contingent. The other soldiers who had gathered were anticipating such an event, and looked between Hotchner and LaFlamme. When LaFlamme rushed into the small office, the female soldier backed away from JJ. 

“Sir!” Pearlman shouted as she snapped to attention. Her fellow soldier stepped back with her, standing in line and at attention as well. 

“Report, Pearlman,” LaFlamme commanded.

“She took it upon herself to destroy all of Dr. Reid’s work,” Pearlman complained. “I couldn’t let her do that.”

“I wasn’t destroying it. I was reorganizing it,” JJ defended snidely. “Like you would know the difference, desk jockey,” she taunted with a sideways flick of one hand and a head toss back and forth. Pearlman stared blandly at Jareau, entirely unimpressed with her sassy tween antics. 

“Dr. Reid spent all morning on that board, sir. Snotty federal bitch wrecked his work. Pardon my French.” 

“I can see what she’s done, Pearlman. Stand down, and watch your language.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied contritely. LaFlamme held out his hand, and Pearlman gave him the dry eraser. JJ snorted and smirked. LaFlamme turned an unfriendly stare towards Jareau, and JJ’s smirk vanished. 

“Pearlman. Hays. You will escort Agent Jareau away from the board, and you will keep her away from it,” LaFlamme commanded. 

“What?!” JJ exclaimed. 

“Happily, sir,” Pearlman replied, her smile returning in spades. 

“Hey, hold up!” Morgan bawled out. 

“Agent Jareau, if you please, follow Mr. Hays out,” LaFlamme commanded. 

“I don’t take orders from you!” JJ exclaimed as LaFlamme pointed towards the door and Hays waited as well. 

“JJ, come with me, now!” Hotch ordered from the doorway to the small office. JJ looked ready to disobey Hotchner too, but she also recognized the opportunity for what it was. She hurried after Hotch as if her life depended on it. Hotch rounded the corner into the coffee room, pulled JJ inside, and closed the door with a loud bang. 

“Agent Morgan?” Dr. Lind asked, clearing her throat. “Have you had a chance to work on the victimology?” 

“Small delay, ma’am. I apologize,” Morgan replied. 

Lind spoke a little louder as she addressed the entire room.

“All right. Everyone, back to work. The floorshow is over.”

Segregated agency groups milled around but moved back to their designated locations gradually.


	12. Ruffled Feathers

12 - Ruffled Feathers

 

“Thanks for having my back, Hotch. Could you have possibly waited any longer to jump in?” JJ snapped snidely the instant the door to the coffee room closed. Aaron faced JJ. He gaped at her like a fish on dry land. It took a moment before he could speak. 

“Do you have even a vague idea of what you’re doing? What you might have cost this investigation with your outburst in there?” Hotch demanded. 

“I don’t see what the big deal is! I erased the board! So what? You know Reid already memorized all the details. I wanted to reorganize the bios so they made sense to the rest of us. I can’t believe you didn’t intervene, and put those jackasses in their place!”

“JJ, this is a multi-agency task force. We need cooperation between federal, local, and military authorities, or we aren’t going to make headway in the investigation. You are not the Queen Bee. You are not the lead investigator. Reid is more familiar with the case than we are. This is a team effort, but you will follow Reid's lead on this. You cannot barge in here, and start bossing everyone around. You are not in command.” 

“The FBI has seniority over everyone else here!” JJ stated firmly.

“We may have federal jurisdiction, yes, but we need everyone else’s cooperation for this task force to work. We cannot sashay in here, and act like the rest of these people work for us. We all have to work together.”

“They can’t order me to stay away from the board.”

“They can’t, but I can.” 

“Hotch! You can’t be serious.” 

“JJ, stay out of that room, and away from that board.”

“Of course you’re taking Reid’s side. Of course you are!” JJ shouted. “I don’t know why I expected anything different.”

“In case it missed your notice, we are on the same side,” Hotch reminded her. 

“Are we? Really? There are times when I’m not so sure,” JJ shot back. “You always favor male agents over female agents, and you favor Reid above everyone else. You always have.”

“We are not having this conversation, Agent Jareau. Not here. Not now. If you want to file a formal complaint, I suggest you do so.”

“Where are you going?” Jareau shouted when Hotch reached for the doorknob. 

“I’m going to go see if I can smooth over the feathers you’ve ruffled. You might start working on your apology.”

“Why should I apologize because some stupid file clerk has a crush on Reid, and thinks she needs to come to his defense?” 

“That ‘stupid file clerk’ is the Staff Sergeant in control of the MP database and case files. If her CO tells her to give us those files, she will. If her CO tells her that we no longer have access to those files because you're being commandeering and obnoxious, we’re screwed. How much more clear do I have to be? We need access to those files in order to conduct our investigation. If you piss off the people who are helping us, it could take years, maybe decades, to get the information that we need. What happens if they decide to fold up and stop cooperating between agencies? You and Pearlman are going to have to work together, whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not apologizing to her,” JJ pouted. “I can’t believe how you’re blowing this out of proportion. It’s nothing but a simple misunderstanding.”

“If that’s all it is, you should have no problem apologizing to Pearlman for making a scene.”

JJ stepped back as Hotch swept out through the door, jarring the overloaded coat rack. The silver contraption hanging from the back of the door rattled then collapsed on the floor. Jackets went everywhere. There was more crashing around inside the coffee room. JJ snatched up a yellow, smiley face mug off the counter and hurled it at the far wall as she gave a frustrated scream. Shards of yellow ceramic glanced off the heavy bricks and filled the room with brilliant color before scattering around the floor. 

“Can we talk privately?” Hotch demanded of LaFlamme, who was lingering outside the door in a not-so-casual attempt to overhear what Hotch and JJ were saying to one another. 

“Sure,” Brett replied, his hero smile planted firmly in place. He cast an eye into the small office with the white board in it. Pearlman and Hays snapped to attention. “You two go answer phones on the hotline. I’ll stand this watch.”

The two soldiers jumped to obey. LaFlamme closed the door in Morgan’s face. Hotch’s team was lined up outside the window. Aaron gave them all meaningful stares one at a time as he closed the blinds. His last glance was of Dr. Lind, who was standing next to Torgeson, who was whispering to her, shaking his head apologetically. 

“Agent Hotchner, I don’t want to cause any trouble for you and yours, but Pearlman did the right thing,” LaFlamme launched. “If it weren’t for the fact that Dr. Reid remembers everything he reads, who knows what kind of information would have been lost, what with your girl in there doing what she did.” 

“Chief Master Sergeant, I would appreciate if you would not refer to Agent Jareau as ‘your girl’. She’s a federal agent, and a damned good one.”

“I apologize. If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s pretty clear there’s tension between your team members, particularly between Dr. Reid and Agent Jareau,” LaFlamme adopted a more soothing tone. 

“Yesterday morning, my team was in New Orleans on a different case in a different time zone. That case remains unsolved. A little girl is missing. Tanisha is occupying our thoughts and our prayers. My people are tired, and perhaps they aren’t acting on their best behavior. I apologize for them,” Hotch intoned. 

“Understood,” LaFlamme conceded. “Pearlman can be a bit defensive of her territory. Those MP databases and files and their contents are her world, her purview, and her responsibility. I’m sure she did not take kindly to having all of last night’s work wiped out by some bitchy little federal bureaucrat with a chip on her shoulder.”

“Agent Jareau will not mess with the board again.”

“No, sir. I’m sure she won’t,” LaFlamme agreed. There was an ominous undertone to his words, and Hotch did not miss it, not at all. JJ had definitely not made any friends in doing what she did. But even with the next breath, LaFlamme was offering the olive branch again. “Everyone is here for the same purpose. We want to locate these missing women. That should be the entire focus of this investigation. Let’s let bygones be bygones, and get back to the work at hand.”

“Agreed,” Hotch said, relief flooding his face. He reached out and shook LaFlamme’s hand. Brett cupped Aaron’s hand and shook it tightly and firmly. 

“We got places to go, and asses to kick, starting with Al Letourneau. Come over to Bangor with me. The Presque Isle Police are meeting us there. I suspect you are just the sort of man who can get him to open up about Terry. Hey, Dr. Reid wears a ring like that one,” LaFlamme commented as he glanced at Hotch’s left hand. 

“Yes, he does. I put it there myself,” Hotch murmured as Brett peeled out of the handshake. Aaron counted. One. Two. Three. The lights came on in LaFlamme’s eyes.

“Oh!” Brett exclaimed when the dots connected for him. “That’s…that’s great!” he added. “You and Dr. Reid are playing house, eh? Great! Congratulations!”

“Thanks. Are we good?” Hotch asked. 

“We’re good,” LaFlamme said, pulling on his coat. His grin grew wider by degrees. Hotch could not understand why the news that he and Reid were a couple brought such a cheerful smile to Brett LaFlamme’s face. 

“My section chief wants to sit in on the witness interviews,” Aaron said. 

“That’s fine. Which one is your section chief? The Italian guy in black?” LaFlamme asked. 

“The WASP lady in tweed. You can fill us in on Al Letourneau on the way to Bangor. Dr. Lind is no slouch when it comes to interrogations either,” Hotch said, opening the office door. The blinds swung back and forth and again. Morgan steadied them. Blake and Rossi were so close to the door that LaFlamme almost walked over them when he strode boldly out. 

“Pearlman! Hays!” LaFlamme called. His charges appeared in a heartbeat. “Get those bios and disappearance dates posted back up on the board. The pictures too. I believe Dr. Reid had everything organized in chronological order. I want everything the way it was before he returns.” 

“Yes, sir!” the camo-clad clerks barked and saluted. LaFlamme returned their salutes, and marched for the double-door exit.


	13. Home Sweet Home

13 - Home Sweet Home

 

“Hi, Chief. Come in. It’s sure cold out there. Pardon the mess.”

“Hi, Connie. This is Dr. Reid, from the FBI.”

“Nice to meet you,” Connie said as she shook Reid’s hand. 

Sudbrink peeled off his hat and coat as he stepped through the front door of the bright and beautiful home. He and Reid were met at the door by a woman in her late thirties, maybe early forties. Reid couldn’t help himself. He liked her from the moment she took his hand and smiled. 

“Mike told me to expect you,” Connie said as she nudged Reid’s elbows and motioned for him to take off his coat and give it to her. 

“I thought he was going to meet us here,” Reid puzzled. 

“He popped in but headed back out. Said he had an idea he wanted to chase. He’s been like that since he was a kid. Always chasing around, digging into things. I always thought he would wind up on the police force.” 

Reid gave Connie a quizzical glance as Jack Sudbrink chuckled.

“Mike is my cousin,” Connie explained to Reid’s weird look.

“Oh,” Reid nodded. That went a long way in explaining why Charbonneau had been so quick to recognize the Empress Josephine. 

Turning to peel off the first coat, and turning again to peel off his second coat, allowed Reid ample time to examine the family pictures which adorned the wall by the numerous coat hooks. It was easy to distinguish it was a big family based on the varied sizes and shapes and genders of the jackets which were hung there along the wall.

By studying the pictures, which were arranged chronologically, Reid determined there were at least five children and two adults in the home. The oldest child was a boy, with his father’s features and his mother’s big smile. He had an athletic build. There was a girl next, and she was her older sibling’s opposite in every way. Thin. Bookish. Not pretty. She was hiding shyly behind a wave of dark hair in most of her pictures. Several years passed with only the first two children before two more girls made their appearances, and then finally came an infant boy. The two most recent pictures hanging on the wall were from Halloween (with all the children standing in the foyer in costume) and from Christmas (with all the children standing in front of the holiday tree, holding up a favorite present). 

This house wasn’t expensive or decked out in haute design. The Francis Family was not rich by any means. But their house was nice, and it was not a mess. It was big and yet still cozy. It was decorated with easy-to-clean beiges and browns, blues and whites. There was more than a little wear and tear on the living room furniture. There were a couple dolls and toys around. The house smelled like spaghetti-os, strawberries, celery, and roasted chicken. It was warm and inviting. 

“Shoes too,” Connie said, pointing to the floor of the foyer. Reid toed off his loafers and lined them up with the numerous pairs of tiny-tot shoes, the teenager sneakers, the delicate ballerina-style slip-on flats of an adolescent girl, the green-stained casual oxfords that Reid imagined Connie wore when she mowed the lawn, and the huge mud-covered work boots that the man of the house wore when he stomped around outside. Reid was quick to note that the shoes below corresponded with the jackets above, right down to the itty-bitty pair of Elmo slippers which were directly underneath the Superman cape on the last hook. 

“Thanks for meeting with us, Connie,” Sudbrink said as he ambled across the thick carpeting and followed her into the kitchen area. This room was alive with colors and sounds and smells. The younger sisters, approximately three and four years old, were seated in a cozy dining nook. The baby boy was seated in his high chair. The girls waved to Sudbrink, and the burly police chief smiled and waved back. 

“I can’t believe how much they’ve grown since Christmas!” Sudbrink exclaimed to Connie.

“Me either,” she smiled back. 

“That takes me back to Jenny and Betty at that age,” Sudbrink whispered, touching a hand to his heart. 

The baby bellowed loudly, not in anger or upset, but in simple joy. His eager eyes followed his mother everywhere around the room. His pudgy, cute features were smeared with the unmistakable red-orange sauce from canned pasta products. There were even a couple of pasta circles stuck on his cheek.

“Sherrie, Carrie, get Harry to eat some of his snack,” Connie called out, patting the infant on the head and motioning for Sudbrink and Reid to follow her towards the stove. There was a pot of homemade soup bubbling away. Some of the ingredients were on the chopping boards waiting to be added—carrots, celery, and pre-cooked, spit-roasted chicken among them. On the counter in the corner were fresh cupcakes with sugary-pink frosting, sprinkled with red dots, covered with a blue cover and a note which said ‘PTA – 7:30 p.m.’ 

“Mike says you’ve got the cat that Dr. Reid is searching for,” Sudbrink said. “Where’s she at?”

“Sleeping over there in the sunbeams, Jack. Didn’t you see her?” Connie chuckled gently, stirring the pot of soup. 

Sudbrink and Reid both craned their necks. In a bay window in the living room, a bushy, gray-blue pillow turned over and stretched her limbs in all directions, arched her back and blinked around. It was as if she knew they were talking about her. As the cat was stretching, it was easy to count the extra toes on each front paw. Josie finished displaying her pointed teeth, balled up in a different position, and went back to sleep. Sunlight was glittering off her bejeweled collar. 

“How long have you had Josie? Where did you find her?” Reid asked Connie.

“I found her off of Dyer Road in late October. Months ago.”

“Was she wearing her collar? Did you call the number on her tags?” Reid asked. 

“She’s wearing the same collar. I put my number on a new tag, in case she went out of the yard, but truthfully, she doesn’t show any interest in going outside. She mostly sits in that window and watches traffic. I called the original phone number for weeks. Nobody returned my messages,” Connie sighed sadly. “I thought someone had dumped her out there and didn’t want her back. I wasn’t going to leave her out there to starve. I brought her home, took her to the vet. She didn’t have a microchip. She was in pretty good shape, so she hadn’t been out there long, thank God. She was cold and hungry and scared. I wasn’t going to abandon her.”

“Connie, it’s okay,” Sudbrink soothed. 

“The phone number belongs to some teenager. She sounded about fifteen on the voice message. I figured she got tired of the responsibility of taking care of the cat. I thought she must have pushed Josie out of the car and drove off. I believed that even more strongly when no one called me back. I must have lectured my kids for a good month about how important responsibility was, how getting a pet meant you were promising to take care of someone forever. Well, anyhow. Never mind all that.”

“How was Josie when you found her?” Reid asked.

“In what sense?” 

“Her fur is beautiful. You must spend a lot of time brushing her to make her look so nice.”

“It’s not so much work. I don’t mind. She likes being brushed. If you run your fingers over a brush, she’s at your feet,” Connie smiled. 

“My cat Goody is like that too,” Reid nodded. “When you found Josie, was her fur clean or dirty? Was she hungry? Did she seem upset?”

“Of course she was upset. She was huddled back inside her carrier like she expected the Devil himself at her door.”

“She was in her carrier?” Reid puzzled.

“Yes. The carrier was backwards and upside down between a couple bushes off the road. I told you. I thought someone dumped her, maybe even tossed her carrier out of the car window and kept on going. More than that, there were claw marks on top of the thing, all over the inside of it too. She was trying to get out, and something bigger and meaner was trying to get in. She had big scratches on her side. The vet stitched her up. She was fine after a couple weeks. I’ve got the carrier in the basement if you need it.”

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Reid nodded eagerly. “Why did you keep it?” 

“I get that from my Scottish grandmother. We don’t throw anything away,” Connie shrugged. “Josie might have been inside the carrier for a day. There was…um… mess in there with her. It was in her fur too. She was bloody from the scratches. The carrier was a wreck.”

“Thank you for taking care of Josie. Without a doubt, you saved her life,” Reid stammered, thinking not only of how relieved Joy was going to be, but also how he would feel if Goody was out alone in the world by himself. He thought about how Gert, the nosy neighbor across the street from the temporary safe-house, had taken care of Goody for a couple days after Bessie had been destroyed. Hotch had been so involved with the case, and worried about Jack, and frantic about Reid, that Goody had been the least of his concerns. Aaron had been so ashamed when he admitted how Goody had been on his own for a couple days, and Reid had been extremely grateful to the neighbor for looking after his cat for him. 

“I was driving home when I spotted her and the carrier. It was dark outside, and it was getting cold. I could see her eyes in the twilight. She was so scared. Am I in some kind of trouble?” Connie worried.

“No, not at all,” Sudbrink assured her. 

“Someone has been searching for Josie,” Reid ventured. Connie stopped stirring her soup and glanced sideways at him. She scooped up the remaining vegetables and poured them carefully into the bubbling broth. Her cheery features dimmed with sadness. 

“They want her back, don’t they? The girls are going to be heart-broken,” Connie whispered. She glanced at the table, but the children weren’t listening to the adult conversation too closely, thankfully. 

“What about if we make a trade? I could get Sherrie and Carrie a couple kittens from the pound,” Sudbrink offered. “Would Joe have a problem with that, do you think?” 

“Ah, hell, Jack. You know Joe. The more, the merrier,” Connie was smiling again. Reid could tell that the mere idea of her husband brought warmth and love bubbling to the surface of Connie’s whole being. He wondered if he glowed that way when anyone mentioned Hotch. “Can you tell me about her?” Connie added. “I’m a little confused. Mike said Josie belonged to a girl who went missing. Has she been found?”

“It’s the missing girl’s sister who has been searching for Josie,” Reid replied. Connie picked up the second cutting board, which had the diced chicken on it.

“Well, tell me about this sister. Will she take good care of Josie?”

“She is a medical student at Georgetown University.” 

“That’s good!” Connie brightened. “She’s a smart girl?” 

“Very smart,” Reid nodded.

“Friendly?” 

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Does she seem responsible and level-headed?” Connie murmured, stirring the pot some more as the pieces of chicken went in. 

“Yes,” Reid replied, though he did have reservations about what Connie might think of a college girl with green-tipped hair, thick eyeliner, and Doc Marten boots. He thought about Joy’s tattoo and grew more concerned. 

“Let me put a lid on this, and I’ll go get that carrier for you,” Connie smiled. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid agreed. 

Connie lidded the pot, turned down the heat, and headed for the basement door. Mrs. Francis wasn’t out of the room for more than two seconds before the baby Harry put a chubby fist in his messy face, and inhaled sharply. 

“Uh oh,” Sudbrink murmured. He was moving towards the nook. Harry pulled his fist out of his maw and started to howl unhappily at the top of his lungs.

“Harry…..”

“Harry, shhhh….” 

Carrie and Sherrie were attempting to be comforting, but Harry continued to sob loudly. He picked up his covered cup and shook it wildly overhead, sprinkling apple juice around like a priest might sprinkle holy water. Reid hung back out of self-defense. He didn’t cherish the thought of getting covered in spaghetti-os or apple juice. Sudbrink stroked the baby’s head, and spoke to him in a soft, low voice as he pulled the cup away and set it out of Harry’s reach. 

“What’s the matter? Don’t cry,” Sudbrink hummed. “Mommy will be back in a minute.” 

The baby burbled, accepting the kind words. It was more than likely the calm, deep voice that he was comforted by more than the words. 

“Doc, could you get me a wet towel or something?” the police chief asked when Harry turned sideways and put pasta and mucus-covered hands on Sudbrink’s side. Reid snatched up a couple paper towels, and wet them in the sink. He handed Sudbrink the soggy material from a safe distance. 

To Reid’s surprise, Sudbrink didn’t use the towels to clean off his side. Instead, Sudbrink mopped the baby’s face, wrestled for and cleaned off one squirming hand, then the other. He whipped off the baby’s gooey bib, all before Harry even knew what hit him. Reid was envious of the skill with which Sudbrink had done the deed, almost like a magician. Sudbrink folded up the bib, put down the damp towels, and then pulled Harry out of his high chair.

It was like putting a wild animal down on the floor. Harry took off on all fours the second his hands and knees hit the tiles. Harry zoomed in Reid’s direction, and Reid scampered out of range, limping back and forth as the crawling baby chased him with maniacal delight. 

“Uh oh,” Sudbrink whispered, hurrying over and scooping the baby up once more. Sherrie and Carrie climbed out of the nook and helped Jack chase the baby. Sudbrink lifted Harry and hooked him on one hip. 

“You have clearly done this before,” Reid observed as Sudbrink bounced Harry carefully and expertly. The baby cooed happily, and banged on Sudbrink’s solid chest. 

“Two daughters, one son, one grandbaby,” Sudbrink answered. “Yes, I have done this before,” he smiled. “No kids?” he asked, looking at Reid’s wedding ring. 

“I have a daughter, twelve, and a step-son, eight,” Reid babbled.

“Oh?” Sudbrink seemed very surprised to learn that Reid was a parent. To be honest, there were times when Reid was surprised too. "Twelve? You started young," Jack added. His grin warmed his face as he danced around with Harry. 

“I wasn’t in their lives when they were that young though. It’s no secret that I’ve never been good with little children. It has long been a source of amusement for my co-workers. Hotch is nervous when he leaves his son Jack with me. I wasn’t even allowed to babysit my godson Henry until he was four,” Spencer admitted. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Doc. Kids either like you or they don’t. You have to be careful, because they can smell fear,” Sudbrink added with a chuckle. “Sure you don’t wanna give him a try?” he offered, unhooking the baby and moving to hand him to Reid. Harry reached out, and Spencer cringed back. 

“No thanks,” Reid shivered.

“Oh, come on, Doc. Take him for a test hug. He might slobber on you, but that’s really about the worst he’ll do.” 

“Isn’t that bad enough?” Reid resisted.

Thankfully, Connie was returning from the basement. She was carrying a big black garbage bag. 

“Is Harry okay?” Connie worried. Sudbrink gave the boy to his mother as Connie gave Reid the big bag. 

“He’s fine. Threw some food around though. I gave him a spit bath. Thanks for all your help, Connie. Can we call you if we need anything else?” 

“Sure. Let me know about Josie? How long we might have?” Connie whispered, giving Reid a sad stare. 

“I will be in touch later this afternoon,” Reid promised. The moment he was in the car, he would call Joy and give her the news. 

“I’ll stop by and see Clyde, and get you those kay-eye-tee-tee-whys that I mentioned. Get their shots. Their tags. I’ll bring you all the necessities. You won’t have to worry about a thing,” Sudbrink promised as he headed towards the foyer and pulled on his coat and shoes. He waved goodbye to Carrie and Sherrie, who waved back, then returned to whispering to one another. 

Reid set the bag down long enough to slip on his loafers. He was pulling on his first coat when his eyes froze on one of the pictures above the coat hooks. It was a shot of the steps of the Natural History Museum. The two older Francis children were standing on the steps with their mother and father. The oldest son was looking sullen and bored, but the oldest daughter wore a gleeful smile. The picture had caught Reid’s attention because it was one of the few in which she was smiling and not hiding behind her hair. She was holding up a small box, the side of which read, ‘T-Rex Model’. A smile returned to Reid’s face. He pulled on his second coat and followed Sudbrink outside into the falling snow.


	14. Milk for Two

14 - Milk for Two 

 

“Janeen! Where’s Janeen? Has anybody seen Janeen Morrow!?” Chief Sudbrink called out when he stepped back through the door at the Greenville Police Department two hours later. “My receptionist?” he clarified when one of the soldiers from Bangor put her phone on hold long enough to answer him. 

“She went to pick up her son. His car won’t start. She should be back soon.” 

“Thanks, Airman. Airma’am? Soldier.”

“Welcome, sir,” the soldier replied, touching buttons on the phone once more. “Go ahead. I’m listening.” 

Hotch was surprised that Sudbrink had returned without Reid. Aaron had wanted a chance to speak with Spencer. He was worried that the confrontation with JJ, which Morgan had described in almost unnecessary detail, had left Reid emotionally battered and bruised. Hotch had been steeling himself for the conversation he needed to have with Reid. Did Reid actually believe that JJ had betrayed him and sided with Strauss? Hotch really needed to talk to Reid and convince him that JJ would never have turned on him that way, never in a million years. Here was the police chief, but where was Reid?

Sudbrink headed into the coffee room where Hotch was lurking about. Aaron had brewed a fresh pot in hopes of sharing some with Reid when he got back. He had hoped to soften the uncomfortable conversation with a bit of coffee. Sudbrink opened the fridge, and pulled out a jug of milk. He stopped at the coffee machine and snatched up two small Dixie cups. It was then that Hotch was close enough to hear mewing sounds. 

“How was Mrs. Francis?” Hotch asked. Both men were pretending there was nothing unusual about the noises coming from the chief’s coat. 

“Good,” Sudbrink replied. He was holding his arm across his chest as if in support of whatever was hiding inside. “I have a present for you in the trunk of my cruiser. Josie’s cat carrier. Did you bring any forensics experts with you? Where did Bangor’s own Prince Charming go?” Sudbrink chuckled. Hotch guessed he must have been talking about LaFlamme.

“He was expecting an ambassador on base for refueling in an hour, so he had someone else drive me and Dr. Lind back here.” 

“Did you get Al Letourneau to open up to you?” Sudbrink wanted to know. Hotch followed Sudbrink down the hall, past the small office where Morgan and Torgeson were hard at work with the tips that had been pouring in. Blake and Rossi were in the next office, deep into a conversation with a couple of locals who had come in to talk about what they might know. Hotch wasn’t sure where Dr. Lind or JJ had gone. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either. 

“Letourneau clammed up the minute Dr. Lind and I walked in the room. No amount of persuasion, gentle or otherwise, got him to talk. We don’t have anything to hold him on, other than pure dislike. We had no choice but to release him again,” Hotch complained. 

As they got further down the hallway, a black and silver tabby kitten poked out from Sudbrink’s furry collar and piped anxious mews as it clawed its way up the side of his neck and onto his broad shoulders. 

“Come back here,” Sudbrink said, sheepishly tugging her inside his coat again. Feds and police and soldiers alike gawked as the macho police chief lumbered past, making kissy face with the tiny kitten. When he reached his office, Sudbrink deposited two kittens on his messy desktop. One was a brown and white calico, and the other was the black and silver tabby who had tried to escape.

“Where’s Reid?” Hotch asked as Sudbrink poured milk into two Dixie cups and set them on the desktop too. The kittens clambered over one another to get to the make-shift bowls. Hotch decided the cats were around six weeks, maybe seven weeks old. Sudbrink carefully snipped off their tape collars, and pulled a bag from his coat. He set two small collars with bells on his desktop. 

“The doctor was falling asleep in my car. I took him back to his hotel, told him to get a couple hours of sleep, and call me when he needed a ride to the station house, that I’d send one of guys around,” Sudbrink answered. He was smiling and stroking the kittens, who were gulping down the fresh milk. 

“How did it go with Mrs. Francis?” Hotch asked. 

“Connie found Josie in late October, off Dyer Road. She believes someone tossed the carrier from a moving car, and that Josie spent a full day in her carrier before Connie spotted her. I will call the state crime lab about the carrier,” Sudbrink explained. Hotch nodded along as Sudbrink fingered his way down the page of phone numbers under the cover of his desk blotter. Although the clear cover was marked with coffee rings and food splotches and now milk drops, the pages underneath were pristine. He reached for the phone, tucking it between his ear and his shoulder. 

“We should go to the scene where Josie was found,” Hotch suggested. 

“Yes. I was thinking the same thing myself,” the police chief agreed. "The state troopers are all over it." 

“Where did you find those two?” Hotch asked, pointing to the kittens. 

“They are for Mrs. Francis’s younger daughters, to ease the pain of having to give Josie back to Joy Lovelace,” Sudbrink explained. He had yet to start dialing. 

“Did Reid tell Joy he found Josie?” Hotch asked. 

“Dr. Reid called her the second we were back in the car. She’s on her way up here. She’ll arrive tomorrow morning.”

The burly police chief’s face went blank with panic for half a second. There were women’s heels clacking down the hallway towards his office. He hung up the phone and scooped up the kittens. He handed one to Hotch as a blonde woman knocked on the office door. 

“Quick,” Sudbrink whispered to Hotch. “Look pathetic.”

“Chief? What do you need?”

“Janeen!” Sudbrink grinned. “My favorite animal lover in the whole wide world. How’s Dirk?”

“He’s fine. Damned car of his. Wish he’d let me buy him a new one. Jack, why do you have the milk on your desk? Put it back in the fridge. Oh God, what do you want?” the receptionist asked when her eyes landed on the kittens. 

“Janeen, could you see that these two are kept safe and warm overnight? Tuck them in a box in my office? Get one of the kids out there to check on them every now and then? Milk? Munchies? Potty breaks?”

“Why can’t you take them home?” 

“Do you remember all the hell I caught from Lori when I took home that Great Dane puppy that was abandoned out on Six?”

“Lori loves Jughead as much as you do.” 

“Sure. It only took a year for her to warm up to him. I don’t know who had to beg harder – me or Jughead. I can’t come strolling in with purring furballs in my pockets. Number One, Jughead might think they’re squeaky toys. Number Two, I might as well sleep on my couch here, because that’s where I’ll be sleeping if I go home with these girls,” Sudbrink pleaded with his receptionist, who remained skeptical and unimpressed. “Janeen, look at these sad, baby faces. How can you say ‘no’?” 

Sudbrink held up his kitten in Janeen’s direction, and motioned for Hotch to do the same. Aaron turned the squirming kitten right-side up, and gave Janeen a hopeful smile. The receptionist sighed and gave Jack a patient and affectionate look. 

“All right. But only one night. The police station is not the animal shelter.”

“Only one night,” Sudbrink promised.

“There’s a Detective Davidson on line two. He’s from Macon, Georgia. He needs to talk to you about Sissy Whitman?”

“Patch him through,” Sudbrink exclaimed as he scurried around his desk to plunk down in the big chair. He gave Hotch the second kitten, and picked up the phone. “Detective Davidson? This is Chief Sudbrink.”

Hotch sat down in the rickety chair and kept the kittens on his chest, petting them as he listened to them meow and purr.


	15. Business and Pleasure

15 - Business and Pleasure

 

It was almost ten o’clock when Dr. Reid returned to the Greenville Police Department. The first sound which greeted him was the bank of phones ringing off the hook. Soldiers and civilians alike continued to field calls and sift for leads that might pan out. The second sound that Reid plucked from all the noise was that of loud discussion coming from inside the small office which had been turned into the BAU team’s command central. At the moment, there wasn’t a single member of the BAU team in sight though. The small office was humming with two MP clerks and Greenville’s night deputy. They were studying the board and its much-changed contents. Reid limped over to the doorway and waited, listening to their conversation, all the while wondering about what had happened to the case board. 

“You can cross Gabrielle Jenkins off. She called in from Florida. She left Maine to take a job down in Tampa.”

“Good. We’re down to eleven.”

“You can take her off too,” the redheaded clerk pointed. “Sissy Whitman. She has remarried, is living in Macon, and she’s doing fine.”

“Did you call Whitman and tell him?” Reid asked from behind. Both clerks turned around, as did the night deputy. 

“Detective Davidson said that was up to us,” the night deputy put in. 

“He deserves to know,” Reid said. “I will call him.”

“But what if Whitman is our guy?” the other clerk said.

“Hays, Ron Whitman is not a killer,” the red-headed clerk defended.

“What if we tell Whitman where Sissy is, and he suddenly drives to Georgia, and hunts her down?” Hays replied. 

“I will tell him she is alive, but not where she is,” Reid interjected quietly. 

“Decided to join us again, Reid?” 

Reid glanced to his side to see JJ was prowling up and down the corridor. She stopped five feet away from him and crossed her arms defensively over her chest. 

“Must be nice to be able to leave for a nap in the middle of the day while everyone else is busy. Feeling better, Sleeping Beauty?” JJ razzed Reid, still hoping to get a rise out of him. Or maybe she thought light banter might be the way to open the lines of communication again. Unfortunately, there was such an edge to her words as to make them unfriendly, and not meant in jest. 

“I do feel better,” Reid nodded, and left it at that. He noted there was dry erase ink dotting the foremost portions of JJ’s office jacket, those parts which would have brushed the board if she had been up against it moving an arm back and forth across the surface: the underside of her sleeve, the right breast, the right front. Reid did not miss the animosity in the glance exchanged between JJ and the red-headed clerk named Pearlman. 

“Thank you for tidying the board. I’m sorry my handwriting was so hard to decipher,” Reid offered. Pearlman’s features blended anger with pity. Would she tell him the truth about what happened? She had dry erase ink on the very tip of her left elbow and on her right hand, but nowhere else. How curious. JJ snorted from the doorway. Reid wasn’t sure why she did not come into the small office. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I typed and printed the notes we had, tacked up the pages,” Pearlman explained, pointing to the blocks of white paper and large font words. “My handwriting isn’t the best either,” she added. She was embarrassed. She avoided his gaze, except when he looked away, and then she stared at him, full of pity and sympathy again. Reid feigned ignorance, but he was nobody’s fool. 

“You have eliminated a few from the pool?” Reid commented, studying the pictures and the bios which remained. Hays handed Reid the pictures they had pulled down, and Pearlman explained the reasoning behind each.

“Like we were saying, Gabrielle Jenkins is in Florida. Sissy Whitman, now Simpson, is alive in Macon. Mandy Moser is dead in Texas. She and her boyfriend got in a violent domestic fight last summer. She shot him in the leg. He shot her in the face. She died a week later from infection. He’s serving life in the pen. Penny Riser is incarcerated in Spokane for drug dealing.”

“We’re down to ten missing,” the deputy explained. 

“Good job,” Reid murmured. 

“Thank you, sir,” Pearlman said as she and Hays smiled in unison. “We’re ready to head back to base for the night. Anything you need before we go?” 

“No, but thank you for asking. Drive safely.”

“Is it still snowing?” 

“The snow has stopped, but the streets are not the most ideal driving surface. They have frozen over.”

“Welcome to Maine,” Pearlman chuckled on her way out the door. Reid wondered why when Pearlman and Hays exited the small office, another clerk from the Bangor base stepped up to them. The three soldiers exchanged quiet greetings and whispers, and the unfamiliar clerk came into the office. The delicate-boned African-American woman, with a long neck and a thin smile, tucked herself into a chair at the table, plugged in her laptop, and sat down. She quickly resumed her task. From the pile of phone messages she was dragging around, Reid suspected she was categorizing the leads, tracking which ones had been followed up on already. The night deputy patted the new clerk’s shoulder on his way out the door. 

“I’ll be in the chief’s office if you need me.”

“Thanks, McElvie,” the clerk chirped. 

Reid and JJ were left alone together, alone except for the MP clerk clacking away on her keyboard. JJ had still not entered the office. She did step onto the threshold, and that’s when the clerk stopped typing. She glanced up, cleared her throat, and shook her head. JJ stepped back out. 

“I've got your boss on speed dial, ma’am. Don’t make me hit the button,” the clerk warned. JJ glared at the clerk, and Reid tilted his head in confusion. The night deputy raced back to the doorway.

“Need help,” he panted.

“No. I can handle Miss Priss,” the clerk said.

“Actually, I need your help,” the deputy pleaded.

“What?”

“We’ve had a jail break,” the deputy blurted. 

“Oh, shit,” the clerk gulped, rising up, leaving her laptop, and following the deputy away. Reid leaned back out the door and watched them run down the hallway. “You had one job, McElvie. One job,” the clerk’s voice echoed. 

“I’m sorry!” he whined back. 

“What is that all about?” Reid asked JJ. She rolled her eyes in reply. Reid didn’t bother pursuing the conversation. He returned to the white board, sitting up on the flat table and gazing in silence at the information before him. JJ lingered in the doorway for a few moments before she was gone again. 

Reid pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number LaFlamme had given him. The line picked up on the second ring. 

“LaFlamme here.”

“Chief Master Sergeant, this is Dr. Reid. I wondered if you would know. Where I could reach Ron Whitman?”

There was a shuffling on the line. A second voice answered.

“This is Whitman.”

“This is Dr. Reid. Are you available in the morning for a brief meeting?” 

The silence that greeted Reid gave him a chill.

“Is it about Sissy?” Whitman asked, his voice tensing anxiously. 

“It is.”

“You want to tell me in person, because you want to gauge my reaction?” 

There was no point in lying to him. Reid cleared his throat and replied, “Generally, yes, it is customary to deliver such news in person, not only because family members might react in unpredictable ways, and they might require either medical help or judiciously-applied compassion, but because it gives the investigator a chance to witness their response.” 

“You found her?” Whitman’s voice cracked. LaFlamme’s voice was audible in the background. 

“Ron? You okay? Hey, man! Sit down.”

“I would prefer to do this in person,” Reid said firmly.

“Is Sissy okay?” Whitman whimpered. “Look, Dr. Reid. I don’t need to know where she is, if that’s what you’re worried about. I do need to know if she’s all right though. If she’s okay, it’s all good. I don’t need to know where she is. I do need to know that she’s okay. Please?” 

“Sissy is alive and she is okay,” Reid confirmed. Whitman made a noise – a sob of relief and joy. He dropped the phone. LaFlamme shouted in the background, and he came back on the line.

“Jesus Christ, Reid!” he shouted. “You trying to kill him or something?” 

“I do apologize. Is he all right?” Reid asked. 

“Well that depends. Is Sissy alive?”

“Yes.” 

“Then Ron will be fine, once he recovers from heart failure. Is there anything else you need tonight?” LaFlamme demanded testily. 

“No. That will be all,” Reid confirmed. 

The line went dead. Reid stared at the phone for a moment before putting it away. There was quite a bit of excitement erupting down the hall, but Reid tuned the noises out. He folded his legs up on the tabletop, holding his cane across his lap. 

A movement to his left broke his concentration. It was Snippy leaping into the chair, scrambling to get up onto the table beside Reid. Spencer smiled and reached a hand out. Snippy ducked under his arm and frantically licked Reid’s face. Reid lifted his chin and strained sideways away from the smelly licks. If Snippet was here, Spaulding could not be far behind. The deputy paused at the doorway, and his panic heightened when he saw the whippet. 

“You brought a dog in here? Are you crazy?! Close the door! Don’t let him out. Hey. Wait. Is he a tracker?”

“Whippets were initially bred from hunting greyhounds,” Reid said.

“They hunt greyhounds?” 

“No, whippets are very small greyhounds,” Reid explained more clearly. 

“So he is a tracker? Great! Can I borrow him? We need help.”

Reid climbed off the table, and headed for the doorway. Snippet followed him eagerly. 

“What exactly are you attempting to track?” Reid asked McElvie. The MP clerk was in the police chief’s office, crawling around on the floor on her hands and knees, poking her head under the chief’s desk.

“Here, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty,” she called. 

Snippet’s whole body came alive as if he had been shocked with electricity. He clearly recognized the word. He rocketed towards the open door, barking loudly and anxiously. 

“SNIPPET!” Reid shouted. The dog ignored him entirely, bouncing into the chief’s office, barking so hard that he lifted off the ground with each exclamation. The MP clerk bumped her head getting out from under the desk. She scrambled to her feet. She quickly blocked Snippet’s access to the room, and nudged him towards the open door.

“Bad dog! Back! Back!” she shouted. 

Reid made it to the doorway of the chief’s office in time to see and hear the MP clerk scream out, and with good reason. An angry ball of black and silver fur leapt out of nowhere and attached itself to her back and her shoulder. If not for her thick camo jacket, the clerk would surely have had deep scratch marks. She had screamed out in surprise, because the small cat was hissing and howling like a maelstrom. That wasn’t the worst part. A blur of brown and white flew out from under a nearby bookcase, leapt sideways in an amazing arc, and laid a set of needle-like claws across Snippet’s nose before vanishing beneath the brown sofa on the other side of the room. The ball of fur on the clerk’s shoulder raced after the first one, and they both hid beneath the couch. Four narrowed, glowing eyes peered back from the darkness. 

Snippet’s barking stopped abruptly, and was replaced by a scared, startled whimpering. He scrambled back and forth in shock, tucked in his tail, and fled the office. He knocked Spencer flat to the floor, leaving footprints on his chest, and a drop of blood on his cheek. Reid lay on the ground, seeing stars amid the roiling sensory echoes of the overhead lights. Spaulding came into focus above him, along with Hotch. Spencer sat up slowly, holding the back of his head and blinking his eyes to clear the double vision. Hotch stroked the drop of blood off his cheek as he helped him to his feet. 

“I got ‘em!” the MP clerk called out from the chief’s office. “Got ‘em. All clear! The ladies are back in their box.” 

The entire squad room clapped and buzzed for a second with laughter and cheerfulness before turning back to their work. Nearly all the personnel assembled were giving the Greenville night deputy a hard time. McElvie looked dutifully embarrassed. Snippy was whimpering and shivering beside Spaulding, who scooped him up off the floor and held him tight. She was dotting the drops of blood off his muzzle with a tissue, kissing him on the ears. 

“Poor Snippy. You better stay clear of the police chief’s office, hadn’t you? Hmm? No more poking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” she scolded gently. 

Spaulding put her whippet back down on the floor, and the dog hid behind her legs, his tail tucked under his body. He continued to complain as he glanced nervously at the police chief’s closed office door. Hotch reached down and consoled Snippy by roughly patting him on the hind quarters. 

“Man, you can’t carry on like this,” Hotch teased. “They’re baby kitties. If other dogs see you act like this, they’ll ban you from the club.” 

Snippy whimpered and barked once, twice, before hiding behind Spaulding again.

“Keep the door closed, McElvie,” the MP clerk warned the deputy as she returned to the small office with the white board. 

“Thanks for the help,” McElvie said sheepishly. He presented her with a small bag of vending machine cookies, and hurried back into the squad room in order to answer a ringing phone. 

“We’ll be around,” Spaulding said as she took Snippy’s leash and walked him through the station house. The whippet hung his head in shame and kept close to Spaulding as they passed by several desks full of personnel taking phone calls. Random people gave Snippy comforting pats on the butt. Reid was positive that all the attention was not sitting well with the Captain, whose job it was to blend in, not stand out. No one was curious about her presence though. They merely took her to be one more soldier from Bangor, especially considering her close camaraderie with LaFlamme and his cadets and clerks. 

“Do you have a minute?” Hotch asked Reid, jarring him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes, sir,” Reid answered. Hotch motioned for him to follow, and headed for the coffee room. 

Inside the small office, the MP clerk was standing up again from the far end of the table. She was craning to see what Hotch and Reid were doing, and she masked her curiosity by stretching loudly. She came around the corner and into the coffee room, slowly hunted around for a clean cup. She filled it with the last of the old coffee, and tossed in a couple packets of sweetener. She was either completely unaware she was interrupting the serious talk that Hotch needed to have with Reid, or she was using getting coffee as an excuse to eavesdrop. Either way, Hotch wanted her to go. He kept staring at her, trying to decide how to get rid of her in a polite way which would not further erode the delicate balance between the agencies working on this case. 

“Pearlman and Hays must have returned to base for the night. I didn’t catch your name,” Hotch said, sticking a hand out to her. 

“Staff Sergeant Caroline Cummings,” she replied, shaking his hand in reply.

“SAIC Hotchner.”

“A pleasure, sir. Saw you on the news this morning,” she grinned as she stirred her coffee. 

“Sorry. That wasn’t the best impression to make. I’ll keep the foul language to a minimum.”

“You said nothing that would make me clutch my pearls, sir.” 

“Anything interesting coming in from the leads?” Hotch asked. 

“I’m about to go over the freshest batch of messages. You’ve been through this before, no doubt. Phones keep ringing, because there’s no shortage of people who want to talk about what they think they know. Not much has panned out so far. We have been able to whittle down the list a bit. That’s helpful.” 

“Let us know if you come across anything of interest.”

“I will, sir,” Cummings said before striding from the room. Another soldier from the airbase was leaving the small office after depositing a new stack of notes. Cummings sat down, combing through the slips of yellow and pink and white paper, sorting them. Hotch watched her for a moment before he closed the coffee room door. 

Reid poured more water in the machine to make a fresh pot of coffee. He was hunting for a cup. He discovered that the stack of disposable Dixie cups which had been there this morning was all gone. So were the reserve sleeves which had been in the drawers under the cabinet on which the coffee machine rested. Spencer nosed around the ceramic mugs which littered the counter – all of them were dirty. He gathered them in several fingers and carried them over to the small sink. Reid plugged the sink, turned on the water, and opened the doors beneath the sink. He hunted through the bottles below and found a small amount of lime-green dish soap. Spencer put a few drops into the running water and put the bottle back where it belonged. 

Reid pushed up his sweater sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves as far as his elbows. Hotch was delighted to note that between the time he had left for a nap and the time he had returned to the station house, Reid had showered, shaved, and changed into a different suit of clothes. He was wearing a black sweater over a gray shirt, paired with dark black slacks. His tie was a somber, dark green. Unlike most of his clothes, which at this point were literally hanging off of him, this outfit hugged his frame, accentuating his thin silhouette. 

It hit Hotch that he hadn’t seen these clothes on Reid before, and that tie was new too. Reid had packed a very limited number of items for this jaunt because he had expected to be home, well, probably around this exact time. He hadn’t had time to go get more clothes while he was here. Therefore, someone else had gotten these clothes for him. For one angry moment, Hotch was positively determined to interrogate Reid and find out who had shopped for him. More to the point, how someone else had done so well matching his size and shape so perfectly. The color of the tie accentuated Reid’s eyes in a very flattering manner, and that made Hotch all the more hot under the collar, knowing someone had spent enough time staring into Reid’s eyes that they could have managed that kind of magic with a mere tie. 

“Nice outfit,” he commented.

Reid heard the clipped tone and looked up.

“Ensign James.”

Hotch responded with narrowed eyes. Reid noted this as well, and narrowed his eyes back. 

Hotch rasped, “How’d he get the fit so perfect?” 

“Tape measure,” Reid muttered. “Asshole,” he added. Hotch ducked his head at the metaphoric pop on the nose.

“Sorry.” 

Reid reached back and grabbed Hotch’s tie, pulling him forward for a quick peck on the cheek before getting back to the task at hand. Aaron watched Spencer scour the first ceramic mug and rinse it in warm water, making sure to remove every hint of suds. Reid went to tuck the mug into the dish drainer, and came to a screeching halt. The face he made when he saw the condition of the dish drainer made Hotch smile. Reid scooted the mugs aside, and pulled the speckled dish drainer and the moldy mat down into the sink of hot water as well. 

“Do you see any paper towels?” Reid asked over his left shoulder. Hotch leaned his hip against the counter and watched Spencer scrub the two foot by two foot Formica space. He washed the mat until it shined, and ran it under warm water as well. Hotch plucked the mat from Reid’s hands, dried it with some paper towels which he had snatched from beside the coffee machine. He dried the section of counter before putting the mat back down. 

“I’m sorry we haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet,” Hotch began. Reid scrubbed at the sorry drainer, running around and around the edges until he was satisfied with the results. 

“I called Ronald Whitman and told him that Sissy is alive.” 

“Over the phone? I would have preferred to tell him in person,” Hotch scowled. 

“So would I,” Reid sighed. 

“How did he react?” 

“He was happy, relieved, and sad too. How did the interview with Mr. Letourneau go?” Reid wondered. He wasn’t stupid. He had directed Hotch right back to the case, and away from any personal inquiry he might have wanted to make. It was his subtle way of saying he didn’t want to talk about the tension between team members, or his spat with JJ. 

“He wouldn’t speak to us,” Hotch admitted. 

“Did he request an attorney?” 

“No. But he wasn’t going to talk.”

“Hmm,” Reid nodded, working on the mugs one at a time. His rings clanked around as he rubbed his long fingers inside each vessel. 

“Did you reach Mrs. Haverty? Did she have anything to offer?” Hotch asked. 

“Mrs. Haverty was very drunk when I spoke to her. She spent a good deal of time explaining her bad relationships to me, all the romantic mistakes she has made over the years, and how those bad relationships impacted her children. Perhaps tomorrow when she is more sober, we will be able to speak again?” Reid shrugged. “As much as I dislike him, I do not believe Al Letourneau is involved in his wife Terry’s disappearance.” 

“Why not?” Hotch wondered, drying each mug as Reid handed it to him.

“He is an abuser, but he doesn’t fit the profile of an abductor,” Spencer murmured. 

“Why not?” Hotch asked again. 

“If Billy Haverty had not seen his sister on Saturday morning, I would want to question Al Letourneau more thoroughly. But given the fact that Billy did see his sister, and she was headed out of town…..”

“I know where you’re going with this. She was headed away from her husband. The further away that trail leads, the less of an opportunity Al Letourneau has of being guilty of her disappearance.”

“Exactly. He would not be able to make her disappear if she was not physically within reach. Unless he hired someone to make her disappear, which isn’t impossible, but is highly unlikely.” 

“Do you suspect Billy Haverty of making his sister disappear?” 

“No,” Reid almost smiled. 

“Why not? He wouldn’t be the first brother who didn’t approve of his sister’s habits, and took it upon himself to set her straight.” 

“Haverty does not fit the profile of an abductor or a murderer.”

“He meets the standard profile for the majority of our offenders. He is a single, white male between the ages of 18 and 35.” 

“Haverty has no history of physical violence, no police record, and no military disciplinary records. Lieutenant Bonifant called me this afternoon to vouch for him personally.”

“Lieutenant Bonifant?”

“She’s Haverty’s CO. She woke me up around 1, telling me all about what a nice kid Haverty is, the kind of boy she would want her own daughter to date. She said he’s been unable to concentrate on his work, and she’s had to recommend that he get counseling. Bonifant said she remembers seeing Terry Letourneau on the base that morning, when she came to see Billy, and she also remembers seeing Terry at the Greyhound bus terminal off of Cold Brook Road in Bangor. Terry Letourneau bought a ticket from Bangor to Philadelphia, but she never got on the bus that morning.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I called and asked. Terry purchased her ticket in advance online Friday night, using a pre-paid credit card. She was supposed to catch the bus at 10:15 a.m. the next morning, and would have arrived in Philadelphia by 11:00 p.m. that night. Terry never got on that bus. She wanted to cash in her ticket, but the clerk wouldn’t give her cash. Because she had made the purchase with her credit card, the money had to be returned to that card. The clerk who handled the transaction remembers her.”

“After all this time?” 

“Terry made quite the impression. She was swearing and shouting, and holding up the line.” 

“Past tense. You believe Terry Letourneau is deceased,” Hotch decided.

“I do,” Reid nodded. 

“Based on what?” 

“Terry came to see her brother one last time before leaving Maine. If you were in Haverty’s shoes, and you knew your sister’s dire situation, what’s the first thing you would ask Terry to do?” 

“ ‘Call me when you get there, so I know you’re safe’,” Hotch replied immediately. 

“Terry did not do that. Billy was reluctant to talk to me, because he wants to believe that his sister has gone into hiding, but I believe it is far more likely that she had a chance encounter at the bus station in Bangor, and that is the last trace we will find of her. There is more to this than we have yet been told. I do not believe Haverty is capable of harming his sister. Letourneau is capable of harming her, but he was in Presque Isle, not in Bangor, when Terry disappeared. Billy would have taken Terry to Philadelphia himself, had he not had his responsibilities to perform there in Bangor. He feels partially responsible for what happened to Terry, and that is why he clings tightly to the hope that she is in hiding, and that his silence will protect her.”

“We should keep Terry Letourneau under the missing category,” Hotch decided. 

“Yes,” Reid agreed with a brisk nod. He wondered why Hotch was smiling the way he was smiling, considering the grim topic. Hotch waited, still smiling. 

“How did Joy Lovelace react when you told her you had found Josie?” Aaron asked eventually. 

“She cried,” Reid said simply. 

“Not surprising. She must be thrilled.”

“No. I believe quite the opposite.”

“You do?” 

“The fact that Josie is alive, and she is not with Glory, further cements the reality that Joy’s sister is dead. Glory would never have abandoned Josie, certainly not in the manner in which Connie Francis found her. All Joy and Glory had was each other, and their cat. There is also more to their domestic situation than we have been told. The most likely scenario is that Glory met with foul play, and whoever brought harm upon her, also meant for Josie to die as well.”

“Have you spoken with Joy about this ex-boyfriend that Glory came to see?” 

“Not yet,” Reid admitted.

“Why not?” Hotch wondered. 

“I’m waiting for the right moment, in order to avoid upsetting her. I sense it has an impact on the case, but only in a peripheral manner.” 

“Reid, talk to Joy about the boyfriend. First thing in the morning,” Hotch pressed. 

“Yes, sir. Did Chief Sudbrink turn the cat carrier over to the forensics lab?” 

“Yes. The state has it. They’ll let us know if they find anything. It’s going to take a few days at the very least for even a preliminary report.”

“Joy said that when she was up here in November, she posted flyers about Glory and Josie everywhere, all the way from Maine to Vermont. She never got any responses, not even from the usual crackpot idiots.” 

“But Mike Charbonneau knew who Josie was immediately,” Hotch pointed out. 

“Which means that someone must have seen the flyers and removed them, in order to prevent someone from contacting Joy. We are short one cup,” Reid observed, counting over the stack of clean mugs on the counter and in the dish drain. “I counted twenty seven mugs yesterday. This morning,” he corrected himself. “A yellow mug with a smile on it?” 

“Someone must have it out in the big room,” Hotch shrugged with an easy lie. Reid read right through him, casting a glance over his right shoulder towards the minute flecks of yellow paint on the wall. Someone had swept up the remains of JJ’s temper tantrum, but there was enough evidence for the trained eye to spot. 

“Sure,” Reid murmured. 

“When is Joy going to be here? I assume she’s coming to pick up Josie?” Hotch remarked although he already knew. 

“She will be here early tomorrow morning. We will meet with Connie, exchanging the two kittens in Chief Sudbrink’s office for Josie,” Reid remarked as he wandered around the small kitchen area. He picked up stray flatware and assorted mismatched plates and things to wash, carrying them all over to the sink. 

“Wow – you really have been cooped up at home too long,” Hotch commented, snickering softly. Reid returned the smile, perhaps the first genuine amusement that Hotch had seen in him since the rest of the team had arrived in Maine. A pang of guilt stabbed Hotch so viciously that he caught his breath. 

If what Morgan had said was true, not only had Reid accused JJ of betraying him by siding with Strauss, but Reid had also said he had hoped that Riley’s team would have gotten the assignment. Reid was upset with the entire team, not only JJ. As much as that stung Hotch, there was still a part of him which understood completely why Reid might want the chance to prove himself on his own before being tossed back into the not-altogether-friendly environment of working with his old team again. A different team would not have the old baggage or the old prejudices that Hotch’s team had when it came to working with Reid. Granted, a new team would have a whole new set of prejudices to deal with. It wasn’t like team work had ever been easy for Reid, no matter the team he was asked to work with. 

“Did Jack call you this evening?” Reid asked. “I missed him. He left me a voice mail. It was past his bedtime when I got the message.” 

“Jack called me before bedtime, which reminds me, he’s having quite a good time with your phone. He said to tell you that he took some pictures of Goody for you, and changed your wallpaper, and bought you some music as well.” 

“Oh dear.” 

“That will teach you to loan your phone to an eight year old,” Hotch chided. 

Reid smiled a bit wider. “Did you have any leftover spanakopita?” 

“Maybe,” Hotch hedged.

“I have very fond memories of the last time you made that particular dish.” 

“I bet you do,” Aaron whispered, his smile widening. He leaned into Spencer’s side, reaching around him to pick up one of the plates, nosing against his cheek, brushing beard stubble against Reid’s long, pale throat. 

“Entirely inappropriate memories,” Reid assured Aaron. Hotch grinned and dried the plates that Reid handed him. 

“Are you hungry? When did you eat dinner?” Aaron wondered. 

“I have not eaten this evening.” 

“What did you have for breakfast?” 

“Coffee.”

“For lunch?” 

“Another coffee.”

“REID!” Hotch scolded. “Dry your hands. I’m taking you to get some food!”

Reid glanced at the clock. It was getting very late. If Hotch had been awake since he had had to be at the airfield this morning for the flight to Maine, then he must be running on fumes himself. He had been awake eighteen or more hours by now. He should be needing sleep soon. As if on cue, Aaron stifled a yawn. 

Cummings knocked on the door and entered at the same time. Her face was bright with excitement. 

“You need to see this,” she said, stuffing a yellow slip of paper into Hotch’s hands.

“When did this come in?” Aaron gulped. 

“Two minutes ago. I said you’d be there in a couple hours or so.”

Hotch gave the message to Reid, and snatched their jackets off rickety coat rack on the back of the door.

“We’d better hurry,” Aaron urged.

“Hotch,” Reid cautioned.

“What?” Hotch groaned.

“Dr. Lind was very specific in her directions. I cannot go into the field. She is not going to consider a drive to the Maine Correctional Facility for Women ‘desk duty’, especially in light of what happened the last time I did a custodial interview at a correctional facility.” 

“You think she knows about that?” Hotch cringed. 

“I’m pretty sure she knows all about that,” Reid nodded emphatically.

“Tell me you’d honestly rather stand here and wash dishes, and answer phones, and navel-gaze until the next lead comes in,” Hotch cajoled, sliding Reid’s jacket onto his arms, and lacing his scarf around his neck. 

“No, but….Hotch. Stop it.”

Aaron came to a halt. Spencer angrily whipped his scarf back off. Cummings sheepishly backed out into the hallway, but not so far she couldn’t listen in.

“Federal regulations state that when a female inmate is questioned by Bureau officers, a female agent or officer must be present,” Reid growled. 

“What are you saying?” 

“You should go, but you should take JJ with you.”

“Reid, I understand that you want to be cautious, first case back and all, but, are you sure about this? Going once…..”

“Hotch, don’t be cruel,” Reid begged. 

“Going twice…..”

“Leave, before I change my mind,” Reid muttered, sliding out of his coat and putting it back on the door. 

“Cummings?” Hotch called out. The MP clerk appeared instantly.

“Yes, sir?” 

“Please make sure Dr. Reid eats something.”

“Isn’t Dr. Reid old enough to handle that himself?” Cummings mused. 

“Yes, thank you, he is,” Reid said as he gave Hotch a pointed stare.

“I’ll be back by morning,” Hotch said. He charged out of the coffee room, bellowing “JJ! Has anyone seen Agent Jareau?” 

Reid watched Hotch vanish out of the station house, with JJ rushing behind, pulling on her coat. She had a difficult time keeping up with Hotch’s long strides. Reid leaned himself against the doorframe with a sigh. He dried his hands, folded his sleeves down, and tucked his tie back into place. Cummings waited in the hallway. 

“That was hard for you, letting her go in your place,” Caroline said. 

“You have no idea,” he whispered back. 

“Oh, I have some idea. Miss Priss thinks putting a knife in your back will make her the big star of the show, the belle of the ball. Cinderella is overestimating the size of the shoes she’s aiming to fill,” Cummings added. Reid blushed and stared at the floor. 

“Thanks,” Reid replied sadly. “But this is not a competition.”

“You might not think so, but she sure does. Can I offer a word of advice? Don’t be a gentleman with her. I know her type. If she thinks she can get ahead by stabbing you in the back, she’s going to do it. She is going to take you down if you give her half a chance.” 

“Thanks for the tip,” Reid murmured.


	16. Lost and Found

16 - Lost and Found

 

“I’m scared she won’t like me. What if she doesn’t like me?” Joy Lovelace was trembling, sitting in the booth next to Dr. Reid. “Why are we here?” she asked, glancing around the diner. There were two other customers sitting up at the silver counter which snaked a wave contour along the long side of the building. Reid stirred his cup of coffee and dreaded the next few minutes. 

“Mrs. Francis said she would like to meet us here instead of at her home. I think she wanted neutral territory. What did you do to your hair?” 

“Nothing,” Joy lied. 

“The color is slightly different.”

“No, it’s not,” Joy insisted. “Why are we here?” 

“Mrs. Francis wanted to make you feel comfortable,” Reid replied. Joy had dyed her hair a natural brown, taking away the green and black highlights. 

“I’m not nervous,” Joy denied. 

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Chief Sudbrink interjected from the other side of the table. He had a small cat carrier beside himself in the seat. It was covered with a blue towel with red lobsters dancing around on the print. 

“Joy, I need to speak with you about a matter connected with the case, a matter which you have been reluctant to bring up, the reason Glory was in this area in the first place,” Reid began. Lovelace squinted briefly at him, dropped her eyes, and then shot Sudbrink a sour frown. 

“Pete didn’t kill Glory. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a killer,” Joy insisted. 

“Is he the reason you and Glory fought the night she left home?” Reid asked. 

“Yes, but I don’t want him involved with this investigation,” Joy growled.

“If he has had a hand in your sister’s disappearance, why would you seek to protect him?” Reid wondered. 

“I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting Glory.” 

“In what sense?” Reid asked. Joy was burning red with anger. 

“I don’t want the world to know he was making a fool of her.” 

“Can you be more specific?”

“Pete and Glory met and started dating while he was in DC for a summer college program. What he didn’t tell her was that he was already engaged to a girl back home in Vermont. I saw wedding invitation samples in his backpack when he left it at our apartment once. After the college program was over, he returned home, but he continued to correspond with Glory over email. I knew what was going on. He wanted to have the fiancée on one arm, and Glory on the other. He was an asshole. Glory had no idea. She was deliriously in love with him. She got it in her head that she should drive up to Vermont to surprise him. I told her it was a bad idea. Very bad idea.”

“How did you know he was not being honest with her?” Reid wondered. 

“He was too good to be true. I told her that, and she said I was being paranoid. She brought up my trust issues. It pissed me off.” 

Reid waited a moment, leaned down to catch Joy’s lowered eyes. 

“How did you know he was not being honest with your sister?” he asked again. “Do you have more to go on than wedding invitations in his bag?” 

“This is so awkward. Yes, it’s more than the wedding invitations. Pete made a play for me while he was dating Glory. That’s how I knew what kind of jerk he was. It’s happened before with other guys that Glory dated. They all play the same game. They wait until her back is turned, and they make their move on me, thinking they’re being so slick about it. If I say yes, then the sin is all mine. If I say no, then it was never what he meant. I misunderstood. He wasn’t asking me out. He was being friendly, that’s all. If I said anything to Glory about how they acted behind her back, they would call me a liar and a slut, tell her I was the one who made a play for them. Nine times out of ten, who is a girl gonna believe? Her sister, or the dickhead boyfriend? It’s the good girl, bad girl thing. They want to date Glory, but they wanna fuck me. Worse than that are the guys who want us both at once. Doc, it’s been the same damned game since we started sprouting boobs. Glory never believed me. Never. It was infuriating. She attracted assholes that would always hit on me behind her back, and she never believed me if I told her what they were doing.”

“Pete asked you out, and you said no. Did you tell Glory?”

“Asked me out? No, it was nothing so genteel. Pete asked if I wanted to fuck on the fire escape while my sister was asleep inside our apartment. Seriously.”

“Did you tell Glory?” 

“I didn’t tell her the night that it happened. I told her the night we fought. She said I was making it up. I got mad at her. She said I was being possessive, that I didn’t want her to have anyone in her life. She said Pete had said that I was in love with her, my own sister, and that I didn’t want her to have a boyfriend because I wanted her all to myself. That’s not true, Doc! I swear to you, it’s not true! If Pete had been the right guy for her, I would have driven her to Vermont myself. I tried to warn Glory, but she wouldn’t listen to me. And now she’s gone. And she’s probably dead. And as much as I’d like for you to be able to put this all on Pete, the truth is, I know he isn’t responsible.”

Reid blinked quietly at Joy, unsure of what to say. He cast a quick glance at Sudbrink. The stern police chief looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and hide. Reid gave Joy a pitying stare. 

“Joy, I will need to question Pete, and determine his guilt or innocence on my own. Please understand that my need to do this. It is not a reflection on my belief in your veracity. It is a procedure that I must follow. In order to properly eliminate him as a suspect.”

“Sure,” Joy sniffed. “Fine. You don’t believe me either. That’s cool. No one ever does.”

“I do believe you,” Reid promised. 

“No, you don’t. I know how it works. The girl always believes her boyfriend, and you men always close ranks to protect one another against a woman's accusations. Especially a woman like me. That’s fine. Whatever,” she muttered.

“Joy….”

The bells on the door chimed, and Reid and Joy looked up in unison. The noise level in the diner escalated from quiet early morning hum to school playground in seconds. Connie Francis entered with a cat carrier which was also covered by a towel to ward off the cold. Two giggling girls hurried into the diner after Connie. Carrie and Sherrie were dressed for dance class in matching pink one-pieces and tights and tutus under their coats. Sudbrink waved at Connie, and she walked slowly their direction. Joy’s eyes were glued to the little girls. It was all over her face. Seeing the two sisters reminded her of how she and Glory had been as children. You didn’t need to be a professional profiler to see the pain she was feeling. 

Reid and Sudbrink stood up. So did Joy. Connie tentatively waited, studying the younger woman as she approached. There was approval and sadness both in her face. Joy was suddenly self-conscious of her entire person—she touched her clothes and her hair, and stared down at her big, black boots in shame. She tugged her sleeve down so that it covered the tattoo on her wrist. 

“You must be Joy,” Connie said. There was no judgment or condemnation in her face. There was sympathy and affection, and there might even have been some nostalgia. Reid stepped slightly back as Carrie and Sherrie ran forward and scrambled to take Joy’s hands.

“Hi!” they chorused.

“Are you really Josie’s mommy?” Carrie asked. 

A meow echoed from the carrier that Connie was holding. She lifted the towel and peeked inside. Joy covered her mouth with one hand, and the waterworks erupted. Reid had not been expecting this, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He felt as if time slowed down to a crawl as Joy gasped for breath, tears running down her face. The little girls blinked at her in surprise. Carrie (the younger one?) bit her bottom lip and looked for a moment like she might cry too. Chief Sudbrink was quick to the rescue. He scooped up his carrier, and motioned for Connie’s daughters to come with him. 

“Let’s sit over here, and give them a chance to talk, hmm?” the police chief said as he guided Carrie and Sherrie to the next booth. The girls were immediately in love with the kittens. 

Connie handed Josie’s cat carrier to Reid, and put both arms around Joy Lovelace, stifling her tears, rubbing her back, whispering soft words. Reid had no idea why he hadn’t thought of that himself. 

“It’s all right, honey. Everything is going to be all right. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but it’s going to be all right. I promise you. Don’t cry, Joy.”

Those words only made Joy cry louder. Spencer stood there holding Josie’s carrier, listening to Josie meow mournfully. Every eye in the place was on them. Joy continued to sob as she buried her head on Connie’s shoulder. 

“Josie is fine. These officers are going to find your sister. Don’t you worry,” Mrs. Francis soothed. By this time, the waitress came over to them. 

“I don’t mean to intrude, but you can’t have pets in here, unless they’re seeing-eye dogs. Service animals, you know? I’m going to have to ask you to take the cats outside. I’m so sorry.” 

“No problem,” Reid agreed quickly. He headed for the door at a high rate of speed for someone walking with a cane, anxious to get outside and quit making a scene. Connie guided Joy towards the door. Joy staggered ahead, gasping for air. Sudbrink was bringing Carrie and Sherrie behind. He was toting the cat cage very close to the ground, because the girls were glued to it, grinning, smiling, and waving to the kittens inside. He opened his squad car, a big SUV, and set the carrier on the back seat. He lifted the Francis girls up one at a time to let them meet the kittens in person. One of the first things Reid had noticed when climbing into the vehicle this morning was that the storage area in the far back was filled with bags of cat food, cans of kitten food, a carpeted cat tree, and dozens of toys – jingly balls, feathery contraptions, and brilliantly-colored stuffed mice. 

Reid stood awkwardly next to Mrs. Francis’s vehicle as Connie gave Joy several tissues and continued to pat her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Joy babbled. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m not like this. I don’t cry all the time. I’m not one of those over-sensitive girly-girls. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m so sorry.” 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Connie soothed.

“Can I see her? I want to hold her,” Joy said, turning to Reid and falling to the snowy ground in order to open the carrier. She put her hands inside and lifted Josie out. The long-haired gray cat meowed, not in protest, but in greeting. She rubbed her face against Joy’s cheek, licking her skin, pawing at her. It was clear that she recognized Joy. 

“You should be careful with the traffic,” Connie cautioned. An old red farm truck went past, and tossed slushy snow and water at their feet. The driver, an older man in grease-stained coveralls, gawped openly as he drove by. Connie waved to him, and he waved back very mechanically. Joy kissed Josie several times, holding her close. She reluctantly put her back into her carrier though. 

“Her fur smells like spaghetti-os,” Joy laughed softly. “Thank you for taking care of Josie.”

“You’re welcome,” Connie sighed, sniffling. “I’m gonna miss her. If your hotel gives you any trouble about having a cat there, you’re welcome to stay with us until your flight leaves.”

“I’m not leaving Maine,” Joy announced. Reid blinked at her as she took the carrier from him and clutched the handle tight. “I’m not leaving again without Glory.” 

Connie nodded along, “Of course, dear. Certainly.”

Reid felt a horrible dread climb into his bones and his soul. The reality of the situation had not yet struck Joy. It could be weeks, months, or even years before they found any trace of her sister Glory. Was Joy really prepared to drop out of Georgetown, move to Maine, and haunt these streets until her sister was found? Was she honestly going to give up her promising life? 

Mrs. Francis petted Joy’s arm and looked to Reid for support. Connie understood that Joy needed to hear the words. It was obvious what Mrs. Francis was hoping Reid would do. Joy needed someone in her corner who was going to tell her that this was the right thing to do, even if the reality was that it was the worst possible thing in the world for her to be doing. Reid took a deep breath, and against his own better judgment, he told Joy the truth.

“It may some time before we find any trace of your sister.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving her behind again. I’m staying until I find her, no matter how long it takes,” Joy said firmly.


	17. The Delicate Conversation

17 - The Delicate Conversation

 

“They hate me. They hate me being here,” Joy mourned, sitting down in the empty chair at the table where Dr. Reid was planted. He stretched his back, and rolled his head side to side, making more noises than crackle-and-pop breakfast cereal, which actually sounded really good to Reid right at that moment. He wondered if he might slip down to the grocery store and find some cereal, bananas, and milk. He had been gazing at the white board again, and had lost track of time. Was it really after 8 p.m.? 

“It’s not that they hate you, as such,” Reid offered without turning around.

“I heard what your boss said. If you’re going to let me stay, it’s your job to keep me out from under their feet.”

“Hotch gets loud when he’s angry. I’m sorry you heard that. He hasn’t had much sleep in the last few days. He drove all the way down to Windham last night, only to have the prisoner there refuse to speak with him and Agent Jareau. Hotch is frustrated, and he feels useless because we’re not making progress.”

“Do you always spend your time making excuses for his bad behavior?” 

“Not always,” Reid chuckled. 

“Do they think I’m going to be in the way?” 

“Having a victim’s family member present during the investigation can complicate matters,” Reid nodded. “I happen to feel that you can be very useful though.”

“That’s all I want to do, Dr. Reid. I want to help.”

“You also want to make amends because you blame yourself for Glory’s departure and disappearance.”

“Yes,” Joy nodded tearfully. “Sorry. I promise not to cry every time you mention her,” she whispered, drying her eyes. 

“Joy, do not apologize for your emotional response. You love your sister very much. You have every right to mourn her absence. You should not be made to feel ashamed because you cannot suppress your normal human emotions.” 

“Holly never said you were a Vulcan,” Joy snickered, drying her eyes again. Reid smiled in reply and faced her slowly. “Have you ever seen Sense and Sensibility?” 

“I’ve read the book.”

“The movie with Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman.” 

“No,” Reid admitted. 

“ ‘Give me an occupation, madam, or I shall run mad’, Colonel Brandon says when his beloved Marianne falls ill. That’s how I feel. Having nothing to do is making me crazy. Give me a way that I can help, or I will go out of my mind,” Joy insisted. 

“At this moment, the best thing you can do is help me to understand who Glory is, and what she was doing up here.” 

“She came to talk to Pete.”

“Pete is in Vermont.” 

“So did you talk to Pete?” she wondered. 

“I did,” Reid confirmed. Joy waited, letting the moment drift, hoping Reid would say more. “You were right. He’s a jerk and a knee-biter, but he’s not a killer.”

“What convinced you?” Joy wondered. 

“A number of factors,” Reid mused. 

“Like his choirboy looks and his cherubic innocence?” Joy asked, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm. Reid smiled again and shook his head. 

“No. He has an alibi for the day that Glory disappeared here in Greenville. He was at a family function with his new wife and in-laws. There are fifty people who can corroborate his presence, plus pictures of the event with date and time stamps.” 

“How did the interview go?”

“Sudbrink and I drove to Montpelier. Pete met us at a local restaurant. His wife sat with him for the interview, refused to leave the table when offered the chance. She held onto his hand, and answered the questions for him. She continually attempted to place the blame for his infidelity on Glory, preferring to believe that your sister is the one who led Pete on and seduced him, not the other way around. But the entire time Pete was talking to us, or rather while his wife was talking to us, Pete was checking out every attractive woman within his field of vision. He could not keep his eyes out of the waitress’s cleavage.”

“Yep. That sounds like Pete,” Joy confirmed.

“Please understand. I do not mean to make excuses for Mrs. Norquist, only to explain her behavior. It is a common, emotional defense for a woman who knows she is being cheated on to defer blame for the infidelity onto the other woman, rather than to blame her own cheating spouse. It’s very hard to admit to yourself that you made a mistake in the selection of your life-mate.” 

“She will have to face up to his cheating one way or the other. I bet she thinks he’ll behave now that they’re married. But the truth is, Pete is not going to be any more faithful to her now that he’s got a ring on his finger. She won’t be there to hold his hand and keep him in line every hour of every day,” Joy said bitterly. 

“Eventually she will have to face the truth,” Reid agreed grimly. 

“I feel sorry for her,” Joy sighed. 

“I don’t,” Reid replied. “She was a rude and condescending. Maybe they deserve each other.”

Joy snickered softly, her smile relaxing her tense face. “Meow,” she whispered. “You’ve got a very catty side to you, Dr. Reid.” 

“Where is Josie?” Reid wondered. 

“Mrs. Francis was driving me back to the hotel, and we got about halfway there when she stopped the car and asked me to stay with them while I’m in Maine. She said I could have the guest room for as long as I need it. Josie would be safe and warm in a nice house, and not be cooped up in a hotel room, alone and scared.”

“You said yes?” 

“I said yes,” she nodded. “They don’t know me from Adam, but they’re letting me and Josie stay with them. I can’t get over that kind of compassion from complete strangers.” 

“They are nice people,” he agreed.

“They are surreal nice. We never had that growing up.” 

“Had what?” 

“A family like that. They’re so good together. As nice as Mrs. Francis is, Mr. Francis is too. They are the cutest couple together. He’s just…nice. I know. I keep saying that. But they are nice. They really are.”

“I understand,” Reid nodded. 

“He got home last night for dinner. He’s a trucker for a produce company, so he’s gone a lot this time of year, only comes home every couple of weeks. Mrs. Francis, she makes homemade soup. She bakes cupcakes for the PTA. She takes her daughter’s science club out for pizza every week. She goes to all of her son’s home hockey games. They’re the family that Glory and I always wanted. Is it weird that I feel guilty, asking Mrs. Francis to give Josie back? Josie would be happy there. She’d be safe. She’d be taken care of. She’d have anything she ever needed,” Joy sniffled. 

“I cannot tell you how you should respond,” Reid interjected. 

“You must think I’m an idiot, the way I keep babbling and crying.” 

“No. I do not think you’re an idiot. I think you know very well that you are in a singular position to be able to help me,” Reid insisted. 

“How?”

“You can tell me more about your sister than anyone else can.”

“How will that help?” 

Reid motioned towards the white board, and the five pictures which remained. Glory was last in the line. 

“Tell me what you see when you look at the board,” Reid directed. 

“Tell me what you see first,” Joy hesitated. 

“Five young women, Caucasian brunettes between the ages of 20 and 27. They have a medium build. They have a similar facial structure. They have brown or blue eyes. They have all gone missing in the last six years, in a hundred-mile radius around Greenville, Maine. Although I can make educated guesses about their lives, I see details, not people.”

“What do you need me for?” Joy asked. 

“What do you see when you look at the board?”

“My sister, and women who look like my sister.” 

“You know your sister better than anyone else, and the details you can provide might help our case.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“I don’t mean to upset you, but may I assume that you and Glory did not have a pleasant childhood?”

“It was far from pleasant,” Joy shivered. 

“When you and Holly came to my house, you said your mother was dead, and your father was gone. In what manner?” 

“Our father killed our mother, and got sent back to prison.”

“Back to prison?” Reid begged for clarification. 

“That’s where they met. She was an attorney and a Sunday school teacher. When she wasn’t working as a public defender, she taught basic education, and helped prisoners get their GEDs. She was the kind of Christian who believed in taking care of those in need, and spreading the Word through acts of love and charity. She was helping the prisoners turn their lives around. She was leading mission trips to Mexico and Jamaica to care for orphaned children. Mom was a novelty. She wasn’t like the hate-mongers and fake prophets who call themselves ‘religious folk’ these days.”

“She made a big impression on you.”

“Good and bad. She was a good person, but she could also be pretty damned naïve. Everyone talked about how my father swept her off her feet, how all he had needed was a good woman to make him turn his life around, but the truth of it is, that man spotted the perfect mark, and he lied to her from the moment they first met. He said everything she wanted to hear. And in the end, he put a knife through her chest,” Joy frowned. 

“Your mother was a Sunday school teacher?”

“Our names didn’t make that perfectly obvious?” Joy asked skeptically. 

“I did wonder,” Reid confessed. “Why did your father kill your mother?” 

“That’s kinda personal,” Joy stopped. Reid felt the walls come up, but he persisted as gently as possible. 

“Joy, I do understand your reluctance. But I must ask you to be open with me, because this is very important.” 

Her face fell, and she shook her head no. Reid was not immune to her pain. 

“We can change the subject for a while if that will make you feel better. What are you studying at Georgetown?” Reid asked. 

“Pre-med. I haven’t decided on a specialty yet.”

“You have time to make up your mind. What have you considered?” 

“I’m interested in mortuary science. But people get spooked when I tell them that. I’m interested in pediatrics too. But I don’t want to be one of those terrible clichés, you know? Bad girl by night, life-saving pediatrician by day.”

“In what way are you interested in helping children?”

“I remember how scary doctors seemed when I was little, and I thought perhaps I could be a non-scary pediatrician.”

“You saw doctors often as a child,” Reid agreed. Joy was startled, but gave a slow shrug and nod. Spencer shifted his legs and let his feet swing downward. His toes brushed the floor. “I do not mean to upset you,” he added. 

Joy raised her chin and bit her bottom lip, glancing over her shoulder, out of the room. People walked by. Eyes darted inside. Reid got up, walked over, and closed the office door. When he came back, he sat down in the other chair, and rested his hands on the table. He hoped the distance would make her feel safer, that he was not looming over her, demanding answers. 

“You may speak freely,” he promised. “I will not judge.”

“Do you have put whatever I say in a report?” Joy asked. 

“I would need to include facts which are relevant to the case. I would not need to include anecdotes related to specific incidents.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It would suffice for me to say ‘Glory and Joy were abused as children’. I would not need to be specific about the incidents themselves. May I ask you to confirm which manner of abuse? Sexual, physical, or psychological? Usually it is a combination of all three, but not always. You do not need to say the words. You can nod if that is easier. I can discern clues about your person, if I must.”

“You can?” she worried.

“You use cosmetics not to heighten your beauty as most women do, but to conceal your better features. You make your eyes smaller. Before you reverted to your natural hair color, you amplified your hair to make it less attractive, even going as far as green tips to make yourself appear venomous, dangerous. You have reverted to your natural hair color in an attempt to console Mrs. Francis about the rest of your appearance. You wish to curry her approval, seeing her as a substitute mother figure. You miss your mother, as you miss Glory. But you fear you take more after your father, and that disgusts you. Most people who meet you ascribe your unconventional appearance to anti-social rebellion, born of an attempt to prove your individuality and non-conformity. But to me, everything about you says ‘touch me not’. There is a faint scar under your right eye. One on your chin. Your nose is slightly out of alignment. It has been broken, perhaps more than once. You have had stitches in your lower lip. The tattoo on your wrist covers the scars from an unsuccessful suicide attempt. The fact you wish to conceal your attractiveness coupled with the evidence of physical abuse….”

“Please stop,” Joy shivered. 

“I’m so sorry,” Reid retreated. He squirmed in his chair and tried again. “Joy, this is very important.” 

“If you already know what happened, why do I have to say?” she asked miserably.

“You are not to blame for what happened to you or to your sister. The odds are stacked against girls from the beginning. The truth is that 1 in 4 girls is the victim of sexual abuse before she turns 18.” 

Joy stared vacantly at the floor. 

“Please listen. It is important that we talk about this,” Reid begged as he dropped his voice again.

“Why?”

“You are not to blame for what happened to you. And before you get indignant and tell me I have no idea how you feel, I want you to know that I can relate to your experiences, although not to your exact circumstances. In addition to 1 in 4 girls, 1 in 6 boys are also molested,” Reid added. It took her a moment to figure out what he was saying. When she did, her head popped up, and her eyes went wide. 

“Oh!” she said, blinking at him in surprise. Her face swam with misery, and she dropped her eyes to the floor again. “I’m sorry. I thought you were being pervy.”

“Pervy?” Reid balked. 

“Dr. Reid, you don’t know how many male adults have wanted me to talk about what Glory and I went through. Doctors. Therapists. Teachers. While they were hanging on my every word, they’d be sitting in their chairs with a notebook in their laps, hiding their erections. They were getting their jollies from what I told them,” she hissed. 

“I do not ask you these questions because it ‘gives me the jollies’,” Reid replied crisply, allowing his annoyance to show through for a second. 

“I believe you,” Joy nodded. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories for you. I’m sorry.” 

“I would not have mentioned it, but that I thought it might help you feel more comfortable speaking to me about your own experiences. Not in a sexual fashion. In a group therapy fashion. I do understand where you are coming from. I hope that knowledge will make you feel at ease. Did therapy ever help you?” 

“God, no,” she said as she shook her head. “Therapy is based on truthful answers to painful questions. Except when I tell the truth, no one believes me. They think I’m making it up for attention, for sympathy, to be shocking. Whatever. Therapy never helped, because no one ever believes me.” 

“I promise I will believe you, but I will also be able to tell if you are being less than honest with me,” Reid warned. “Would it make you more comfortable if I did not look at you while you talk?” Reid asked. Joy’s brows bushed together. “That helps sometimes,” he added. 

“Yes. It would help,” she nodded. Reid slowly turned sideways in his chair, staring at the far wall.

“Is that better?” he asked, darting his eyes far left in order to catch Joy’s tiny, bemused smile.

“Yes.”

“Less creepy?” he hoped, eyes going back to the far wall. 

“Much less creepy. It started when we were small.”

“How small?” Reid asked. 

“I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t doing inappropriate stuff to us.”

“You were correct when you said that your father saw your mother, and spotted the perfect mark. It is very likely that he saw your mother as a conduit through which he could have children at his disposal. Many pedophiles latch onto unsuspecting mates for just such a purpose.” 

“Believe me. He knew what he was doing,” Joy replied. Reid nodded in agreement. “He was always careful around Mom. He played her. He showed one person to her, but an entirely different person to Glory and me. He could switch back and forth between the two like that,” Joy snapped her fingers, her voice grinding with pain. “He was all ‘Father of the Year’ when Mom was around, but the minute she left for work, or left to go to the store, he’d be all over us.” 

Reid’s expression aged a decade in a couple seconds. He sighed, stared down at the floor, poking at it with the tip of his cane. 

“Your mother found out what your father was doing?”

“She came home early from one of her mission trips to Jamaica, and found us tied up in his bed. There wasn’t any way Dad was going to lie his way out of that. Mom and he fought, and he killed her to keep her quiet.”

“Were you and Glory present when she was killed?” 

“Yes. We were tied up. We couldn’t get away. I remember her blood. There was so much blood. It was all over us. It was dripping through the mattress. Glory kinda spaced out. She always did. She didn’t cry or scream or fuss. I was the one who…. I was… um…. Yes,” Joy said as she fretted with the hem of her sweater, biting her mouth closed as she tugged at the loose threads. Reid could see her hands moving out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Your father beat you more than Glory, because she would suffer quietly, but you fought back. He had to take you to the hospital more than once. He would tell the doctors that you were clumsy. That you fell and hurt yourself. You must have moved around a lot, because he could not keep taking you to the same hospital over and over, or surely, they would have become suspicious.”

“Yes.” 

“Glory believed she was causing the abuse with her bad behavior, and she tried to be good all the time. You, on the other hand, reacted by misbehaving, at home, at school, in life. Glory would get angry at you when you fought back, angry at you when you misbehaved.” 

“Yes. Good girl, bad girl,” Joy whispered quietly, her voice dropping away. She was mutilating the hem of her sweater. 

“Joy, you are not a bad girl. I will have to remember to bring a fuzzy toy the next time I wish to question a witness on such an upsetting topic. My therapist has a couch full of stuffed animals and fluffy pillows. I begin to understand why,” Reid said. 

“You see a therapist?” Joy sniffled as she stifled a nervous laugh. She let go of the end of her sweater, brushed it straight, and stopped tugging on the threads.

“Yes.”

“Because of what happened when you were a kid?”

“No.”

Joy winced. “You don’t want to talk about that, do you?” 

“No,” he answered truthfully. 

“Okay. That’s cool. I understand completely,” Joy shivered. 

“I am required by the terms of my current medical leave to visit a physical therapist, a speech therapist, and a mental health specialist. My mental health therapist is an FBI colleague. She has the couch full of toys: a stuffed rabbit, a cat, a dog, a yellow snake with green dots, and many soft pillows as well,” Reid rambled. 

“Is she a child psychologist?” 

“No. Her patients are all adults. When patients discuss upsetting topics, they hold these plush objects. The soothing tactile stimuli calms them. Does that makes sense? Like your sweater there. You tug and touch, because the touch is soothing.”

“Josie can tell when you’re upset. She’ll come sit on your lap, or by your side, and she’ll touch your hand, or lie down against you. Maybe it’s like that,” Joy replied. 

“Stroking a dog or a cat will lower your blood pressure and reduce stress,” Reid put in quietly. “Touch is very important to emotional well-being. Infants who lack positive human contact do not mature at the same physical or mental or emotional rate as infants who are held and comforted and loved. I believe adults who are similarly deprived of positive human contact also suffer ill effects from this isolation, whether it’s due to societal disapproval or self-imposed exile.” 

Joy nodded, listening to Reid ramble. He darted his eyes sideways in order to gauge her reactions. 

“Usually, the people that I interview are hardened criminals with deep-set psychological damage. I am not concerned about their feelings. No, that’s not true. I am concerned about their feelings. But admittedly, there are situations where provoking a reaction will gain more during an interview, particularly if the subject is reluctant to come clean on particular topics which have bearing on the case. If pushing those buttons will get me the information that I need, I am willing to push those buttons. From a safe distance.”

“They’re not the kind who would respond to fluffy toys?” Joy asked. 

“I would not dismiss the possibility that having a soft plushy or a kind animal to hold might soothe them as well. There are criminals who are evil by choice and by design, those who commit murder because they desire notoriety, and they desire attention and confirmation of their superiority to the rest of the human race. But there are also criminals who were abused as children, and that terrible treatment has had a direct impact on their behavior as adults. It does not forgive what they have done, but it does explain it. Unfortunately though, our subjects tend to be inclined towards physical violence. Taking an animal to visit them would be unforgivably irresponsible. Serial killers exhibit cruelty towards animals, extreme cruelty. They struggle to empathize with humans in pain, viewing their victims as sub-human and not worthy of emotional consideration. They lump their victims in the same category as animals. They show no more concern for their victims than we might show for a fish sandwich or a cheeseburger. I should shut up now,” Reid decided. Joy stared at him, blinking quietly. He slowly turned around in his chair to face her. 

“Your mind is not a happy place, is it, Dr. Reid? Don’t worry. You aren’t going to say anything that I haven’t already considered when I’m lying awake in the middle of the night,” Joy confided. 

“I’m so sorry,” Reid replied. Joy shook her head. 

“Doc, it’s okay. I appreciate your honesty.”

“There are times when my mouth gets ahead of my brain,” he offered. Joy chuckled, but the amusement faded away quickly. 

“You really can tell by looking at me that something happened when Glory and I were kids?” she worried. 

“It is my job to be able to read clues about your person.”

“You aren’t going to put all that in your report, are you?” 

“All I need to include is the relevant fact that you and your sister were abused as children, confirmed by witness testimony. I can also pull your father’s criminal records and relevant information about your mother’s death.”

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in awkward silence. Joy started to toy with the end of her sweater again. Reid cleared his throat softly and stared at the table between them. 

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he suggested timidly. “I promise I have no inappropriate intentions on your person. I believe the change in scenery would be good for you.” 

“There’s like a foot of snow on the ground, and you are not very steady on your feet.”

“I haven’t been getting enough physical exercise. I can tell. My body gets stiff if I don’t keep moving around.”

“Holly said you were in a car accident?” 

“Yes and no,” Reid winced. “A suspect planted a car bomb on my vehicle in my driveway.”

“Holy shit!”

“Actually we do believe the incident has religious connotations. But we’re not sure what, exactly, at this point.”

“Is he a terrorist or a maniac?” 

“Psychopath, I believe.” 

“Did you catch him?” 

“No. He remains at large.”

“Does that freak you out?” 

“I try not to think about it every moment of every day. One cannot live in constant fear.”

“It bothers me a lot that whoever took Glory is out there, because you know? This guy?” she pointed to the board as she spoke, “He could be checking out someone else even now. Some other brunette who has had the misfortunate to catch his eye.”

“I very much want to stop this man,” Reid agreed ardently. “We should go for a walk. We could go to the diner down the street. The walk will clear your mind. Physical exertion can relieve stress,” Reid pressed, standing up slowly and steadying himself on his cane. Joy continued to give him a skeptical stare. “I will confess to having ulterior motives. I do hope that the walk and a good meal will stimulate good memories of your sister for you. I hope to persuade you to talk about happy things that you remember. It will help you.” 

“I like when you explain why you’re doing what you’re doing,” Joy mused. 

“I do not want you to misunderstand my intentions,” Reid replied, ambling around the table and for the closed door. 

“It’s like we’re in a documentary about dangerous animals in the wild. I feel as though you are analyzing everything I say and do, hoping I’m not going to burst into tears if you say the wrong thing.” 

“I do wish to avoid upsetting you,” Reid acknowledged. He pulled open the door to the small office at the same instant as the front double doors of the station house popped open. This created a strange vortex of wind which lifted stray papers up into the air. 

Joy stood perfectly still as her hair lifted up, and then fell back into place. She shivered, put her arms around herself. 

“Do you smell that?” she asked Reid. Spencer paused, and sniffed at the air. He thought for a moment that he could detect the scent of vanilla and cinnamon.

“It smells like Cinna-bon. Glory and I would…. never mind,” she murmured, waving away the thought. She was chastising herself as if she had spoken out of turn. Reid gave her a curious stare before giving his attention to the figure who came running into the police station. 

Mike Charbonneau raced through the squad room. His face was animated with excitement and energy. He was moving so quickly that his hat fell off. He stopped, raced back, and snatched it off the floor. 

“DR. REID?!” Mike exclaimed. 

Reid gave him a casual wave. The rest of the room gave Charbonneau a pointed stare and hurried around to collect all the paper which had been raised into the air and scattered about. The cub reporter stopped in front of Reid, gasping for breath, bouncing on his feet. 

“I found something!” Mike panted. 

“What did you find? Where have you been?” 

Mike pushed his mitten-clad hand into Reid’s face, and nearly caught him in the nose. Reid jolted back and steadied himself to let his eyes focus. Something encrusted in dirt and grime but shiny underneath was dangling from Mike’s argyle paw. Joy exclaimed and rushed past Reid, taking the object away from him. Apparently Charbonneau’s excitement was contagious. 

“That’s Glory’s necklace!” Joy shouted.


	18. The Snowy Field

18 - The Snowy Field

 

“I can’t believe that stupid fuck has been combing this forest with a metal detector for two days,” Rossi whispered to Hotch as they leaned against their rented SUV. Everyone had been turfed from their warm beds. Most of them were not happy about it. Ghostly red and blue police lights and white spotlights were playing over the snowy fields and forests beyond Dyer Road. Hotch snickered at Rossi’s comment and sipped coffee. 

“This scene is a pig sty. His footprints are everywhere,” JJ muttered.

“The task force already went over this ground. They didn’t find jack shit,” Rossi reminded Hotch.

“I know,” Aaron nodded.

“Don’t you think it’s more than a little convenient that this guy was able to find that necklace under a foot of snow?” Rossi asked. 

“He was using a metal detector,” Hotch replied. “His path through the field is methodical, linear, and repetitive. Back and forth. Up and down. He did not walk straight to where the necklace was found. He had to hunt for it.” 

“There were ten state troopers with metal detectors combing this field two days ago. They would have found it if it had been here,” Rossi barked. 

“It looks bad for Charbonneau,” Hotch responded. “Did the state search team get down this far? I think they were over that way,” Hotch corrected Rossi carefully. 

“It’s corrupt evidence, Hotch. You know we’ll never be able to use that necklace in court,” JJ put in from Aaron’s other side. 

“That’s not the point,” Hotch replied, letting the coffee warm his hands as icy droplets and flakes teased his hair and his ears. 

“What is the point?” she sulked. 

“We have something to sink our teeth into, at last,” Aaron replied. He turned around and pounded on the window. “Reid?! Get your butt out here!” 

Reid’s head popped up from the pages he had been combing through. Aaron shined a flashlight inside at him. Reid scooted across the back seat and popped open the side door. Hotch turned off the flashlight and tucked it into his pocket. He put his coffee cup down in the floorboard. He lifted Reid down to the ground. The falling precipitation was debating between being ice or snow, and Reid was an ungainly animal on most surfaces, let alone slick ones. 

“Glory is wearing this exact necklace in most of her pictures. The provenance is indisputable. Joy explained that the item was a gift from their mother. Glory’s initials are inscribed on the reverse, and the locket contains a curl from her first haircut as a baby. Joy has an exact locket of her own, but she said she does not wear hers because the clasp is broken. I think it is far more likely that she does not wear her locket because she does not wish to present a sensitive side to the world, fearing her sensitivity would be used against her. Beside the point. While we cannot use the necklace as evidence in court, owing to the fact that Michael Charbonneau touched the article with his bare hands, and we cannot vouch 100 percent for the authenticity of the circumstances of its discovery, this necklace will nonetheless be invaluable to our case,” Spencer said. 

“How do you figure?” JJ smirked. 

“The DNA inside the locket gives us the link to Glory Lovelace, as do the strands of hair attached to the clasp. If I had to venture a guess, I would say that like the cat carrier, this necklace was tossed from a moving vehicle, and was not meant to be recovered. Or conversely perhaps, Glory herself tossed the necklace, hoping that it would be discovered. Given the proximity between the location where the necklace was found, and the location where Josie’s carrier was found, I believe we not only have a connection between the two events and the two articles, but a direction in which to continue our search,” Reid explained excitedly. 

“North by north-west,” Hotch interjected, pulling the map of Maine out of Reid’s grip and unfolding it against the front of the SUV. Reid hobbled behind the others as they all fought to study the geographical features that Reid had highlighted.

“How do you explain the fact that Charbonneau was able to find this locket when no one on the task force was able to find it?” Rossi asked. 

“One quarter mile,” Reid said.

“What?” Rossi asked.

“The task force searched the required one quarter mile around the approximate spot where Connie Francis located Josie’s carrier. Finding nothing, they stopped. Charbonneau located the necklace here, outside the previously-searched area. The necklace was almost a mile away,” Reid explained, pointing to the places on the map. 

“Don’t you find it more than convenient that Charbonneau was able to find this locket when no one else could?” Rossi demanded. 

“You are concerned that he may have planted this necklace. I cannot entirely disprove your theory. I can only look at the evidence. His search pattern in the field does not lead directly to the item. He had to walk back and forth over an extensive period of time. He did not start here, but looks to have started in the smaller clearing and patch of forest to our right. Given the amount of soil and debris clinging to the article, in the links and covering the clasp, the traces of dirt and moisture, the locket does appear to have spent several months exposed to the elements,” Reid explained as he raised the plastic evidence bag and stared at the twisted chain and dented heart. “If it were a trophy from the kill, Charbonneau would be unwilling to part with such a precious item. If he were the killer, and he had such a crucial piece of evidence, it would be in his best interest to destroy it, not hand it over to us. He’s not so stupid as to give us a direct link between himself and Glory. He would know better. He is no idiot.” 

“Unless part of the game is misleading us with this locket,” Hotch suggested. Reid paused, considered the words, and nodded. 

“That is also possible, but I feel it is unlikely. Based even on our brief acquaintance, I would not classify Charbonneau as being capable of this crime.”

“Based on your long history together?” 

“Based on the fact we believe these crimes are sexually motivated, Michael Charbonneau could not be responsible.” 

“Michael Charbonneau doesn’t have sexual impulses?” 

“He does have sexual impulses. But our missing women do not match the particular phenotype that Michael Charbonneau finds attractive,” Reid said plainly. 

“What phenotype is he drawn to?” Hotch asked. Reid hunted for the appropriate way to respond, his eyes drifting across JJ briefly and back again to Hotch. 

“He prefers females who are petite, Asian, and fictional. Super powers optional.”

Rossi’s brows went up. JJ rolled her eyes, again. Hotch nodded seriously.

“How do you know this?” Hotch asked, continuing their friendly exchange. 

“His computer screen saver. His phone wallpaper. The self-made calendar hanging in his office at the newspaper. The tattoo on the interior of his left forearm.” 

“Okay. Okay. I give,” Hotch backed down. Reid gave a ghost of a smile. 

“I believe Charbonneau is very eager to help us because he wants to make a name for himself as a reporter, not because he has committed these crimes,” Reid added.

“He’s moron, Reid. Stop defending him,” JJ growled. 

“Perhaps it makes you feel better to believe he’s a moron, but the truth is, I would judge Charbonneau’s intelligence to be higher than most of the local populace, and most people. He hides his intelligence behind a comedic façade in a clumsy attempt to make those around him more comfortable in his presence,” Reid retorted. 

“He touched the locket with his bare hands and his mittens. Could that be an attempt to plant new trace evidence, knowing there could be old trace evidence on the article?” Hotch asked. 

“Michael Charbonneau drives a Prius.” 

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Rossi blurted. 

“We are operating under the assumption that our unsub is abducting women who are in need to transportation. The likelihood of being able to stuff a struggling woman in the passenger seat of a minute vehicle and keep her distress unseen? Unlikely. Having a cat carrier on her lap at the time? Not possible,” Reid replied. “Besides that, his vehicle is well-known and much-deplored among the locals. They see it as a sign of his left-wing, liberal bias. He would not be able to use the vehicle in the commission of a crime. He would be easily spotted and identified. He receives copious and often ferocious hate mail about his dubious choice in transportation.” 

Reid was smiling faintly now. But then, so was Hotch. 

“North by northwest, hm?” Aaron asked. “Let me see that map.” 

“Ain’t a whole lot on here, no matter what direction you go,” Rossi commented. Reid nodded in agreement.

“But if we spread out from our current location, we can logically eliminate the places where it would be impossible to conceal a body. That should leave us with a short list of possible dumping sites,” Reid offered. 

“Where would you hide a body around here?” Hotch wondered rhetorically. 

“I would start here, at Moosehead Lake,” Reid pointed to the map. “Nearly every cove contains a private cabin or camping spot, sometimes a cluster of cabins. Many are private and isolated. We should canvass each domicile.” 

“Do you know how long that would take? Just how do you plan to search for bodies under a foot of snow through frozen ground?” JJ asked. 

“The weather will present some difficulties, as will the unfriendly terrain,” Reid acknowledged.

“You think, Sparky?” JJ snorted. 

“It will not, however, make the task impossible. We merely need to eliminate places where a body could not logically be concealed, and concentrate our search in likely locations.” 

“Like what, Einstein?” JJ laughed. 

“How elementary do I need to be for you to understand me?” Reid countered. 

“Reid,” Hotch whispered, touching his arm. Spencer continued talking. 

“You could not conceal a body under mature trees. Vegetation covering the gravesites would not be older than the date of death of the grave occupant. A grouping of gravesites from different dates…..”

“Reid, you don’t have to be so literal,” Rossi smiled.

“Don’t I?” Reid snipped. 

“We’d get further faster if we hired a psychic with a crystal ball,” Jareau laughed. 

“JJ. Stop it. Now,” Hotch ordered. JJ tossed her head and laughed off the warning.

“HOTCH!” Morgan called out. He pulled a second SUV up behind the first, and slowly climbed out. Dr. Blake and Torg climbed out. Blake was shivering like mad, sniffling, dabbing her nose with a tissue. 

“What is it?” Hotch asked. 

“We got a line on a family member of another one of the missing women. Dr. Lind is waiting at the Greenville Municipal airstrip. Arguing with her daughter on the phone. She wants you to put someone on a plane back to Maryland. Tonight, if possible,” Morgan explained. 

“Dr. Blake, you all right?” Hotch asked. Alex sniffled and nodded.

“I’m holding up,” she nodded. Her nose was bright red, and her eyes were bleak. 

“I’m going to send you and Reid back to Maryland with Dr. Lind,” Hotch decided. 

“But…” Reid puffed out one word. Hotch’s head whipped back around, brows tight together in anger. Reid crumbled at once. “Yes, sir. A logical choice. She is ill, and I am not allowed to be in the field. I cannot be any help to you here. We will leave at once.”


	19. The Northlands

19 - The Northlands

 

“Thanks for coming with me,” Dr. Lind said to Dr. Reid as they stood on the doorstep of a non-descript house in the middle of suburban Gaithersburg, Maryland. “I’m sorry that Dr. Blake had to bail on us.” 

“She was very disappointed to have to return home so soon.” 

“A cup of tea, some chicken soup, and a good book, and she’ll be all right again,” Dr. Lind said, reaching out and ringing the doorbell. 

“Did your daughter call back?” 

“No,” Dr. Lind murmured. “Has yours called you?” 

“No,” Reid sighed. 

“Hotch said she’s twelve?” 

“Thirteen next month.”

“Oh my. Poor you,” Lind clucked. “Mine is eighteen. In her first year at Virginia Tech. Daddy’s Little Girl. We’ve been mortal enemies since she turned fourteen, and I wouldn’t let her wear a crop-top to school.”

“Why were you arguing this evening?” 

“She wants to go to Fort Lauderdale for Spring Break. I said no. She called her father. Of course he said yes. I said no again. But Daddy already gave her the money and bought her the plane tickets, and made hotel reservations. I don’t know who drives me crazier, him or her. I wouldn’t raise another teenager if you paid me by the hour.” 

“That bad?” Reid winced. Dr. Lind rang the doorbell again. 

“All the tales you’ve heard – the tantrums, the fights, the attitude, the mood swings, the locked doors?”

“Yes?” Reid fretted. 

“The tip of the iceberg. Abandon all hope.” 

“Oh God,” Reid whispered, eyes wide with concern. He hugged his satchel to his chest and pined softly. 

“What the hell? Do you know what time it is?” someone shouted. 

The door finally opened. A surly young teen stood there, angry and annoyed. Dr. Lind turned and gave Reid a look which seemed to say this young man was proving every point of their previous conversation.

“Is Mrs. Northland home?” Dr. Lind asked as she and Reid held up their badges. 

“It’s the middle of the night! Of course she’s home!”

“Ben? That’s enough.” 

“Mrs. Northland?” Dr. Lind addressed the voice hiding in the darkness beyond the surly teen’s shoulder. “We’re so sorry to disturb you at this hour. It’s about your daughter Kristie. May we come in?” 

“Ben, let them through.” 

The young man stepped back and allowed the voice and person forward. Mrs. Northland unlocked the outer storm door to let Reid and Lind inside the house. It was then that they saw the reason she had been hanging back out of the light. Her right eye was swollen shut, and her face was bruised and battered. She had her right arm in a cast. She was haggard and sleepless, and might have been crying earlier. 

“Ben, lock the door behind,” Mrs. Northland ordered, beckoning for Reid and Lind to follow her into the living room. 

“Ma’am, are you all right? That seems a foolish question to ask, given your condition. Forgive me. I don’t mean to pry. But do you need help?” Dr. Lind said, sitting down on the divan where Mrs. Northland pointed. Reid took a careful seat next to Dr. Lind, and watched Mrs. Northland in quiet sympathy. 

“I’m fine. Thank you. I’ve got a restraining order. The police assured me my husband can’t enter the house, and he can’t come near me at work either.”

“That restraining order is worthless. He’s been circling the block all damned night,” Ben complained from the front window as he let the curtain slide back into place. 

“You wanted to talk to me about Kristie?” Mrs. Northland asked. Reid watched the fear wash through Mrs. Northland’s eyes, how her shoulders slumped. “Have you found her?” Mrs. Northland pushed the words out through a mouth that was already tightening against the pain she was anticipating. 

“No, ma’am. But we believe she may be connected to a case that we’re working currently in Greenville, Maine,” Dr. Lind put in. 

“She was staying with my sister in Skowhegan when she disappeared. That was years ago. We haven’t heard from her since. I have always believed that she ran away. Eddy was going to have to send her back home soon, and Kristie didn’t want to come home,” Mrs. Northland whispered. 

“You waited two months to file a missing person’s report,” Dr. Lind pointed out.

“I waited to be sure,” Mrs. Northland replied. 

“Perhaps she might have contacted her father?” Reid suggested.

“Not fucking hardly,” Ben snorted from behind his mother. “He’s the reason she left here in the first place.” 

Reid nodded, studying the angry teen more carefully.

“Kristie wasn’t close to her father,” Mrs. Northland added shyly. 

Ben turned livid with disbelief. “He was molesting her, Mom! Of course she wasn’t close to him!” 

“You don’t know that, and you shouldn’t go around blindly accusing your father without proof,” Mrs. Northland chastised her son. 

“Are there other relatives she might have contacted, besides your sister in Skowhegan?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“No. We’re not close to my family or my husband’s family,” Mrs. Northland said. “You know how it is? No one wants to get involved.”

Headlights went past the window again. Ben stiffened and charged angrily to the curtains. 

“Goddamn it! It’s him again,” the teen growled. He squared his shoulders, and stomped towards the front door. Reid got up from the divan and followed. 

“Ben! Stop!” Mrs. Northland shouted, rising up, tears filling her eyes. 

“Ben,” Reid said softly. The teen paused, hand on the lock. Reid pulled a piece of paper from his small notepad, and wrote two numbers on it. “Listen to me. You will gain nothing from a physical confrontation with your father. You cannot reason with the man, and you cannot physically match him.”

The teen spun around, launching himself at Reid, stopping within an inch of the thin man’s face. 

“WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? STAND HERE AND WAIT AND WATCH HIM KILL MY MOM? WATCH HIM BEAT HER TO DEATH WHILE THE POLICE DO NOTHING?!” the young man shouted, arms down at his sides, hands clenched into powerful fists. 

“No,” Reid murmured, standing face to face with Ben and remaining as calm as possible. “Call those two numbers. Tell them your situation. Tell them you spoke with myself and Dr. Lind. They will help you.”

“What good will that do?” Ben scoffed, staring skeptically at the page in his hands. 

“We believe that your sister Kristie may be connected to a federal case. We need you and your mother to provide information on your sister Kristie, her last known whereabouts, information we would not be able to obtain from anyone else. That makes you and your mother part of our federal investigation, which makes your safety our concern,” Reid explained calmly. 

“Like witness protection or something?” the kid scoffed again. 

“It’s only temporary, but this should act as a deterrent, to keep your father at bay for now,” Reid murmured. “Call the numbers.”

“I know how this works. I know what the game is. Police can’t intervene until my dad hurts my mom. She’s filed a restraining order, but that’s obviously a waste of paper and ink, because he’s been circling the block all night. They can’t do anything until he does something, and she can press charges, but he’ll be out again on bail in two days. I’m not going to stand around and watch him kill her.”

“Ben, please. Letting your father beat on you, the way he beat on your mother, that is not going to solve the problem. Nor will it make the guilt go away. You couldn’t have stopped him, even if you had been here. If you had been here, and you had intervened, he would have likely killed you, and then killed your mother. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Your mother needs you by her side. You need to be here for her. Not in a jail cell at the police department, and not in the hospital, and definitely not in the morgue,” Reid pleaded. 

Ben backed slowly away from Reid, folding his trembling hands around the page. The teen nodded and stuffed the piece of paper in his pocket. The headlights rode up into the driveway and shut off. A car door opened. Mrs. Northland made a soft, whimpering sound. Dr. Lind pulled on her hand and tugged her out of the room, towards the back of the house. 

“We need the authorities at once,” Dr. Lind said as Reid pulled out his cell and dialed the police. The FBI would be next. The sound of smashing, breaking glass echoed in the driveway.

“Where are you? You fucking bitch! You cheating whore! Come out here!” 

The hateful voice carried into the night, like the howl of a rabid, hungry wolf. The sound of more breaking glass followed. Ben reached for the door.

“No, Ben. Do not go out there,” Reid insisted. “Take your mother and go in the other room. Let us handle this.”

“Ben?” Mrs. Northland begged. Something smashed against the front door, and it jarred on its hinges. Reid reached forward. 

“Dr. Reid, do not open the door,” Dr. Lind insisted. 

“You’re going out there?” Ben asked, astounded.

“No, he’s not,” Lind ordered firmly. 

“No, I am not. To do so would be reckless and suicidal,” Reid replied. He pulled a vase off the tall table by the front door, and pushed the table in front of the door to brace it. The smashing and shouting continued to escalate. Sirens erupted at the end of the street. Red and blue lights came winding into the driveway.


	20. Sweeten the Beast

20 - Sweeten the Beast

 

Hotch tapped on the hotel room door and waited. It was 6 a.m. local time, and it had been more than twenty four hours since he had seen Reid in person. It felt weird, to say the least, knocking on the door instead of going right inside. Hotch didn’t understand why Reid had insisted on keeping his own hotel room, at a place down the highway from where the rest of the team was staying. When Hotch had first asked Reid to move to the same hotel with the rest of the group, Reid had refused, explaining that he had paid for an entire week already, and didn’t want to waste the money. 

The hotel was not fancy, so it couldn’t be the amenities that Reid was reluctant to give up. If anything, the hotel where the team was staying was much nicer than this dive, with its questionable décor right out of the 80’s. But Reid had been insistent, and Hotch hadn’t seen any reason to force the issue. He had suffered through several days of sleeping alone, or tossing and turning because of stress over the case. He mentally calculated that the week should be up today or tomorrow, and that he was going to convince Spencer to come to the same hotel as the rest of the team. 

Aaron was not been blind to the fact that Spencer had managed to twist his schedule so that he was with the team less and less, and working more and more with the rest of the task force. It was plainly obvious that Reid was not only avoiding the team, but he was also avoiding Hotch. Well that was coming to an end, here and now, Hotch decided!

Hotch knocked again, louder this time. He heard a noise inside the room. Muffled swearing? Shuffling feet approached the door. A light blinked on. He could see the beams through the venetian blinds on the window next to the door. An eye peered through the peephole. A hand fumbled with the chain and the dead bolt. Reid opened the door and blinked blearily at Hotch. 

“Can I come in?” Aaron beamed. It occurred to him that he should have brought some coffee with him, to sweeten the beast he had awakened. 

“No,” Spencer answered, eyes half open, face full of frowns. ‘Definitely should have brought coffee’, Aaron thought to himself as he shimmied through the slit in the door anyway, closed and locked it once more. Reid turned out the light, got back in bed, and huddled under the covers. He put his head down on the pillows and ignored Hotch entirely. 

“Dr. Lind told me what happened with the Northland interview yesterday,” Hotch said, sitting down on the end of Reid’s bed and patting the lump he assumed was Reid’s long feet. 

“Go away. I need sleep,” Spencer mumbled. 

“Are they going to be all right?” 

“I doubt it. Mr. Northland is spending time in jail because he smashed the windows out of our rental vehicle. But he will likely make bail and be out again shortly. I asked the DC office to take Mrs. Northland and her son Ben into protective custody. Hopefully they will do so. Did you even read my report, Hotch? You had to wake me up to talk about this?” Reid complained. 

“The team is meeting at 7:00 for a brainstorming session with the rest of the task force. I’d like for you to be there,” Hotch said. 

Reid groaned loudly in despair, and kneed Hotch roughly in the back.

“Go away,” Reid moaned. 

“We need to know the details of what Mrs. Northland told you about her daughter, if she could conceivably be connected to our case,” Hotch insisted. 

Reid pulled the covers up over his head and hid. Hotch pushed a hand up under the multi-flowered coverlet and wrapped his fingers around Reid’s closest, ice-cold extremity. Hotch thumbed gently over Reid’s sole, and massaged his long toes. 

“I want you at the meeting. This is not a request,” Hotch rumbled. 

“Why do you need me there?”

“Because I do.” 

Reid peered out from under the covers. He stretched out his legs, and turned over onto his back. Aaron reluctantly let go of Spencer’s feet. Even though it was mostly dark in the room, Hotch could easily make out the skeptical glance Reid was giving him.

“You don’t need me, or you would not have sent me back to interview the Northlands. Be honest. You don’t want me here any more than the others do. As soon as this case has concluded, I will tender my request for a transfer.” 

“Reid, don’t be an idiot. I want you here very much. Please come to the meeting. Don’t make me beg.”

“Dr. Lind is grading your performance as team leader on this case, isn’t she? She asked you to ask us to be there as a test of your power over your team? If anyone refuses, it makes you look incapable of leading us?” 

“You do have a way of cutting through the bullshit,” Hotch mused uneasily. 

“I’ll be there,” Spencer promised, sitting up slowly. “I won’t be happy. But I’ll be there,” he added. 

Hotch turned and captured Reid’s mouth with his own. The kiss took Reid by surprise. He actually put both hands up between them to push Aaron back. Hotch obeyed, puzzled and confused. One thing was clear – Reid was as angry with Hotch as he was with the rest of the team. 

“Garcia said that Frank Schultz has asked for more personnel in New Orleans,” Hotch murmured. He was uncomfortable with the silence, and needed to fill the void he could feel forming between himself and Reid.

“How does Garcia know about this?” 

“She intercepted their emails, on accident, she insists.” 

“Who is Dr. Lind going to send to New Orleans?” 

“Whoever she damned well pleases, and if that turns out to be you, goddamn it,” Hotch caught his breath and scooted closer. “If she sends you away, I’m going to get so pissed. You’re the heart of my case. I need you here. I hope to hell she understands that.”

“I wouldn’t mind going to New Orleans. Maybe I’ll stop and see Ethan,” Reid responded capriciously. Hotch’s fury boiled up, but he fought it back down. “Hotch, you don’t need me. You are surrounded by capable people,” Spencer stammered. He scooted to the side of the bed. “I’m not part of the team. I haven’t been for a long time.” 

“Don’t say that! You are too part of this team. I might be surrounded by capable people, but they are all pulling in different directions. JJ and you are fighting like cats and dogs. Morgan doesn’t know what he should do- help JJ or help you. Rossi thinks you’re both acting like spoiled children who want to be the center of attention. Blake had the nerve to get sick and bail on me, right when I could have used a motherly voice of reason to talk to both you and JJ. Torg somehow thinks this is all his fault, because he has a gigantic, guilt-ridden, self-persecution complex,” Hotch paused. “Are you listening to me?” he wondered. 

Reid turned and gave Hotch such a strange look – somewhere between annoyed and sleepy. Spencer ran a hand through his crushed, flattened hair, and blinked at Hotch. But then his eyes drifted over Hotch and past him, landing on the bed. More specifically, Reid was focusing on the light beams that were breaking through the blinds and making contours and shadows across the surface of the coverlet. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the bedcovers for the longest time. Hotch turned to see what Reid was seeing, patting down the lumps under the covers, smoothing out the blankets. The light beams straightened out over the flattened surface. Reid shook his head and frowned. 

“Would you focus? Please?” Aaron demanded. 

“May I be frank with you, Boss?” 

“Certainly,” Hotch replied.

“I cannot talk to you about this. Precisely because you are who you are. My team leader and my boss. I cannot be honest with you about what’s going on.”

“You can always be honest with me,” Hotch promised. 

“No. I can’t. I cannot talk to you about this because there is nothing you can do.” 

“I can do something, surely,” Hotch stressed. “This tension between you and JJ is tearing the team apart. It can’t go on like this. Talk to me. What is going on?” 

“Do you want the truth? JJ believes my return has jeopardized her position on the team, and she’s not going down without a fight. She is doing her level best to make me leave, so she will feel her place her secure once more.”

“Reid, that’s not true,” Hotch soothed.

“Don’t tell me I’m imagining this, Aaron. I will hit you,” Spencer warned. “If all you’re going to do is tell me I’m wrong, I have nothing to say.”

“But if you are wrong….” Hotch let the sentence linger. 

“This is why I didn’t come to you. No one who has a choice between me and someone else ever sides with me.”

“What are you talking about?” Hotch frowned. 

“I don’t want to talk about this. Maybe you should be grateful for my silence and my distance,” Reid snarled, getting up from the bed and heading for the restroom. 

“JJ is not out to get you.” 

“Of course you’re going to defend her. Hotch, this is why I can’t talk to you,” Reid barked dark laughter and tried to close the door behind himself. Hotch pushed the door open with a stiff arm and stood there. 

“Morgan said you accused JJ of conspiring with Strauss against you, but you have no proof.”

“Other than the fact she used almost the exact same words and employed the exact same psychology strategy? And she appears to be the only member of the team not thrilled with Strauss’s departure?” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Hotch bluffed. 

“JJ stood there in front of Morgan and me, and she told me in no uncertain terms that I’m not physically capable of doing this job. That maybe I have never been capable of doing this job, and it’s time I admit I can’t do it, before I get myself killed. She couched her message in the guise of quote-unquote friendship, all the while using almost the exact vocabulary that Strauss used. JJ and Strauss employed the exact same tactic to convince me to go home and stay there. It’s clear JJ feels I am in her way.” 

“JJ would never betray you,” Hotch defended. “She’s your friend.”

“Really? Is she? I’m not so certain of that as I once was.”

“What evidence do you have?” 

“I’ve been turning the other cheek for months, Hotch, because I didn’t want to hurt JJ. I’ve done my best to be understanding of her needs and her feelings. When Emily left, JJ took that very hard. I don’t want to hurt someone who is already in pain and struggling. But how much longer do I have to keep quiet about how JJ is treating me? Why should I continue to be nice to her? After what she has turned into? The way she talks to me like I’m a slow, stupid child who understands nothing. The eye-rolling whenever I speak. The way she smirks at me all the time, like she can’t stand the look of me. The way she discredits anything I have to offer in group sessions. Who the hell has JJ turned into? I don’t even recognize her any more.”

“Reid, I do think you are over-reacting.” 

“Of course you do,” Reid laughed angrily. 

“Listen to me. You being back on the team does not put JJ’s job in jeopardy.” 

“I tried to tell her that. But she can’t stop rolling her eyes and smirking at me long enough to listen to a word I’m saying! She’s got it in her head that I’m the only thing standing in her way of being God’s gift to the BAU. And you know what? I’m getting awfully tempted to give her enough rope to hang herself on.”

“Reid, it’s obvious how upset you are. Why didn’t you come talk to me before about this?” Hotch whispered.

“Because what could you actually do to help? You can’t fire JJ, because then you will look like you’re playing favorites for my sake. You cannot do a single thing to remedy this situation.”

“You’re telling me you don’t think I can handle this situation?” Hotch asked.

“The best thing would be for me to ask for a transfer to a different team,” Reid mourned. “I’m so sorry. Do you understand now? Why I wanted Riley’s team to get this assignment? It would have been better. All the way around,” Spencer stammered. Hotch stood behind Reid at the sink and buried his head on Spencer’s shoulder while putting his arms around his waist. 

“I’m sorry for what’s happening between you and JJ, but you can’t stay away from the team like this. Or away from me. You being distant is not going to solve the problem. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you,” Aaron whispered, kissing the back of Spencer’s neck. 

“I need to take a shower if you want me at your meeting,” Reid said coldly. When Hotch didn’t take the hint, Reid squirmed to the left, and pulled out of his embrace. Aaron caught his breath and bit his mouth closed. Reid pulling away like that had hurt worse than being shot, or being stabbed, or being dangled over a fiery pit. It took a moment or two for Hotch to pull his heart and stomach up off the floor and steel himself against the pain. 

“Sure. I’ll….I’ll wait out there,” Hotch answered. 

“You do that,” Reid muttered, as he turned on the water. He refused to start undressing until Hotch had closed the door.


	21. Cupcakes

21 - Cupcakes

 

Mrs. Francis dropped Joy off at the Greenville Police Station on her way to taking Carrie and Sherrie to morning dance lessons. The sun was not yet up. It hadn’t even cracked the horizon. Joy stood at the double doors, and waved bye to Connie and the little girls. She hoisted her bag strap up on one shoulder, and balanced a large square container on her free arm as she pulled the door handle. 

It was eerie and quiet in the front area. Janeen was at her terminal, headset resting on her phone. The receptionist/dispatcher nodded a sleepy good morning to Joy. As Joy nodded back and moved ahead, hugging herself against the cold, Chief Sudbrink came waddling up. He sheepishly presented Janeen with a mug of coffee – not just any mug though. It was an exact duplicate of the vessel that JJ had smashed. The yellow mug with the bright smile had a price tag dangling from the handle. Jack quickly pulled off the tag and hid it in his pocket. Janeen smiled up at Jack, and Jack smiled back at her. 

The desks lined up in rows in the squad room were occupied, but the phones were not ringing. Joy thought perhaps Janeen might have had the calls muted. Everyone was turned to look at the white board, which had been pulled out of the small office and into the central area. 

The military personnel from Bangor were grouped to one side. Joy recognized some of them. Jack Sudbrink and the day deputy were standing off to one side, along with other police chiefs and deputies from nearby towns. Joy spotted at least four other local police representatives that she had met when she was up in Maine in November, when she had been tracking Glory’s last known whereabouts. What’s more, some of the local police recognized Joy too. The shame on their faces was tangible, and some of them avoided looking at her altogether. Joy actually felt more than a little sorry for them. 

The FBI team was standing up in the front facing everyone else. They were lined up like students delivering book reports to a packed classroom. Joy supposed that this was very like a book report in many ways. Each person reads the same source materials, and delivers their own interpretation, shaded by their own experiences, colored by their own prejudices and biases. 

Dr. Reid was the first of the federal agents to notice Joy’s arrival. He gave a timid smile, and motioned for her to come forward. Frowns sprang up on most of the other faces. They were not happy that Joy had returned. She was standing behind the military contingent, perhaps an unconscious effort to put protection between herself and the unfriendly expressions. 

Dr. Reid cleared his throat, and moved closer to the center of the grouping, standing in front of the board and looking at the photos posted there. He picked up where he had left off when Joy had come in.

“Glory Lovelace. Terry Haverty Letourneau. Kristie Northland. Cadet Catherine Shaw. Miranda Horn. Our pool has been narrowed down to these five women. They all went missing in late October, one each year for the past six years. They are Caucasian women between the ages of 20 and 27 years old. They are brunettes. They have blue or brown eyes. They have a medium-thin build, and an average height of 5 foot 6 inches tall. Their body weights range between 110 for Cadet Shaw and 135 for Kristie Northland,” Reid said calmly and slowly as he moved from one side of the board to the other and back again. He paused and glanced over, meeting Joy’s eyes. She knew suddenly that he was about to launch into more personal details, and he was concerned how she might react. 

“I brought cupcakes,” Joy announced, a little more loudly than she intended. Reid’s eyes lit up. The military personnel spun on her almost in unison. Agent Hotchner narrowed his eyes at Joy and ground his teeth together loudly. The portly Italian man rocked on his heels as he fought with a smile. Joy was too busy handing out goodies to take in the other reactions. Police personnel shifted towards her too, and it wasn’t long before lots of people were dipping into the big square container, picking up pink and blue and yellow confections. 

Joy nervously maneuvered herself towards the federal agents, and offered them cupcakes as well. Dr. Lind lifted a pink cupcake from the container. She studied Joy not in anger, but in sad, mute understanding. She was seeing something familiar in Joy, and it was obvious in her body language that she hoped to be able to talk to Joy later. The other federal agents refused the offer of goodies, except for Reid, who picked up a blue one, and sat cross-legged on a nearby desktop. 

Agent Hotchner bristled behind Joy. He took her by one elbow and nudged her towards the desk where Reid was sitting. He deposited her in a chair as if she were a naughty child. That was probably how Hotchner saw Joy, considering their age difference. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Joy murmured. Hotch’s only reply was a dark glare, but his angry look softened the second his eyes moved over to Reid. The doctor pulled a good portion of the frosting off his cupcake with one large lick. He was wolfing the treat down hungrily, and had frosting on the tip of his nose. Reid’s personal aura was radiating pure happiness. Hotch’s dark eyes filled with warmth and affection. Joy knew she was seeing a gentleness in Hotch that Aaron reserved for Reid and no one else. Come to think of it, Joy observed, it was not unlike the look Chief Sudbrink had been giving Janeen moments ago. 

“No problem,” Reid mumbled as he gulped his last bite. He licked frosting off one finger and eyed the container again. 

“Dr. Reid, would you please continue?” Hotchner rumbled. He handed Reid a tissue, touched his own nose, and the younger man quickly wiped off his face. 

“Yes, sir,” Reid snapped a quick reply, launching himself back to his feet. His eyes remained buried in the container that Joy was holding though. She lifted it to him, and he snatched up another cupcake. 

“Reid….” Hotch intoned deeply. Spencer reluctantly put the cupcake down on the desktop next to his cup of coffee. Reid’s face took on a serious demeanor once more. He returned to his presentation, the graveness of which was somewhat diminished because he had a smidgen of frosting on his chin. Even Joy was smiling as she watched Reid scrub his lower face with the tissue. 

“1 in 4 American women has been sexually assaulted before the age of 18. 1 in 6 American men. 78 percent of the offenders are family members, family friends, or intimate partners,” Reid reported grimly. 

Joy’s smile quickly faded. She stared down into the remaining cupcakes, and avoided Reid’s sad eyes. Reid cleared his throat, and she dared a glance upward. 

“Each of these missing young women experienced sexual assault in one manner or another, three by their fathers, one by her priest, and one by her older brother.”

“That’s a goddamn lie!” 

The belligerent words echoed around the room, shouted by one of the military contingent. LaFlamme was honestly startled by the outburst. He jolted forward as if someone had goosed him. Lieutenant Bonifant turned to stare down the young man who had opened his mouth. 

“Mr. Haverty,” she hissed. 

“I told you my mother would lie to you!” the young man insisted.

“Mr. Haverty, you will either control yourself, or you will be asked to leave the room,” Bonifant replied. 

“I asked my dad. Point-blank, I asked him! He said Terry was lying. He said she made that up to get attention. He promised me…. He….swore up and down to me that she was lying,” Billy stammered. He struggled to control himself, but his voice cracked horribly until he could no longer make sounds. 

Dr. Reid’s face filled with horror and concern. He wanted to reach out, to offer comfort which might lessen the emotional blow of what he had said. He took one step forward, but Hotch’s hand caught him by the arm. Hotchner shook his head no. Reid stayed put. 

Joy wasn’t sure what happened to her. She felt a well of sympathy open inside her as Billy let out a sob and covered his face with his hands. Joy put the cupcake container on the desk, and stood up. She took Billy’s hand and pulled him towards the coffee room. Even after the door closed, Haverty’s body-wracking sobs could be heard. Lieutenant Bonifant cleared her throat and sighed heavily. 

“I apologize for the interruption. I will speak with Haverty once we’re done here. Carry on, if you please,” Bonifant suggested sternly. 

“Statistics bear out that people who have been victimized once are likely to be victimized a second, even a third time,” Reid stammered softly, slowly. He seemed to have lost his train of thought. He was staring at the break room door as Haverty continued to sob. 

“Are these disappearances sexually motivated?” LaFlamme asked. Reid jolted at the question. 

“I believe so, yes. We will be able to better determine the motive when we have located the bodies, or located the unsub. Whoever is responsible is attracted to victims who are emotionally wounded. He is seeking out vulnerable women,” Reid answered. “What I can tell you for certain is this: having been a victim of sexual assault makes you cautious, sometimes overly-cautious. You do not trust easily, or quickly, and you will be careful of everyone around you until you feel secure again. These missing women did not get into a vehicle with a complete stranger. They would not have trusted someone right off the bat. The man we are dealing with is not a creep in the park in a long overcoat. It’s possible he has no police record. These women would not have trusted him if he had made them the least bit uneasy.”

“Who do you think we’re dealing with?” LaFlamme wondered. 

“He’s an older man. 30’s, 40’s, or 50’s,” Hotch launched his thoughts from the platform that Reid had built. “The face he presents to the world is kind and trustworthy.”

“Any way to narrow that down?” the police chief from Skowhegan asked. 

“These women did not perceive the man as a threat,” Hotch added earnestly. 

“Because two of our victims were last seen in Greenville, and based on the recovery of Miss Lovelace’s cat, cat carrier, and her necklace, we believe your guy is a local, or intimately familiar with the area,” Rossi said. “Odds are that you already know him. You see him every day, and you never think twice about him. He’s blending in with everyone else. When you figure out who it is, to a man, his neighbors and his friends and his family are all going to say they don’t believe he’s capable of what he’s done. He’s in a position that make him familiar and trustworthy. We are going to need irrefutable physical evidence or a confession before anyone will believe he has done these things he has done.” 

Janeen gave an uneasy laugh from her terminal. Everyone turned to look at her. 

“God, Jack, I hope you have a good alibi,” Janeen interjected. 

Chief Sudbrink coughed up a small laugh and a thin smile. “So do I,” he replied. The day deputy swelled up protectively. 

“We know it’s not you, Boss,” the kid said. Uneasy laughter washed quietly through those assembled.

“All joking aside, you do bring up a valid point,” Rossi interjected. “There are going to be men who meet some of these criteria, but they will not be the killer. However, you should include them on your list of suspects, and you should confirm their alibis, in order to eliminate them from your suspect pool. This is the stage of the investigation where you need to clear men who might be brought up later in an effort to create reasonable doubt in the minds of a potential jury.”

“What you’re saying is, throw a wide net, and make sure to investigate every potential suspect carefully,” Sudbrink nodded.

“Yes, sir. Exactly that,” Rossi agreed. 

“Put me at the top of the list,” Sudbrink said to his deputy. “I’m serious, Stevens. No special treatment. Put me right at the top, and yourself as well.”

“Did this guy stalk these women before he took them?” Lieutenant Bonifant asked. 

Morgan answered, “No. None of the witnesses who have come forward have reported seeing anything unusual, a man following women around. No one has reported seeing a man dragging women into his vehicle and driving away. He’s abducting them without anyone noticing that he’s abducting them. He is familiar and non-threatening.” 

“What makes these women special? What makes them vulnerable to him?” another police chief asked. “Could they be soliciting? I’m not blaming the victims, before anyone here gets indignant at me, but I’m asking what needs to be asked.”

“It’s too early to discount any possibility,” JJ said. “Although some of them have minor police records, none of them has been arrested on prostitution.”

“But it is not uncommon for sexual abuse victims to work in the sex industry,” the police chief called back.

“It’s not unusual,” Dr. Lind answered. “But we don’t believe that is the case here. This offender is drawn to emotionally-injured women. Earning their trust is a game to him. I’d wager it’s the part he enjoys the most.” 

“He could be a father figure,” Reid whispered, mostly to himself. A thought had struck him, lodged in his brain, unwilling to fall free yet. Hotch watched Reid turn and gaze at the board. “Given the age of the missing women, he could be a father figure,” Reid repeated softly. 

“Our unsub looks normal. He acts normal. He is in a position which allows him to interact with the women without causing fear or anxiousness,” Morgan said. “A cop, a member of the clergy, a teacher even.” 

“There appears to be one abduction a year,” Sudbrink observed.

“If this is a complete list of his victims,” another police officer called out.

“It could be an anniversary, a special date for the unsub,” Morgan replied. 

“Like you said – a cop, a teacher, maybe even a member of the clergy,” Sudbrink murmured. 

“How does he convince them to come along so easily?” Reid worried. 

“Don’t limit yourself to only those groups to investigate,” Morgan cautioned. 

“Shouldn’t we include the military? Anyone who has been stationed around here since the disappearances first started?” LaFlamme asked. 

“Absolutely,” Morgan nodded. 

“As a civilian population, we have a tendency to obey a man in uniform – a soldier, a cop, a federal agent – because we’ve been trained to believe they are there to protect us, and that they will do us no harm,” Torg interjected. 

“In your neighbor, maybe,” Morgan chuckled. “Not in mine.” 

“That is another valid point,” Hotch commented as Torg and Morgan nodded together in understanding. “Serial killers rarely cross racial lines. Because our missing women are Caucasian, the perpetrator will likely also be white.” 

“Did Glory have a thing for bad boys?” one of the clerks asked. Reid glanced up at Pearlman, and then to Joy. “Not to speak out of turn….” 

“Not at all, Staff Sergeant. Speak your mind,” Bonifant urged. 

"Glory attracts assholes, if that's what you're asking," Joy remarked cynically. 

“I knew Cathy Shaw. She was in a couple of my classes. She would sneak off-base to get drugs, and also to meet up with this guy she met at a local biker bar. She’d come back to base and brag about how good the sex with him was. It was nauseating, the way she talked this guy up,” Pearlman said. 

"Glory drinks now and then, but she doesn't do drugs," Joy insisted. "She wouldn't hook up with some random guy either. She's not that kind of girl." 

“Do you remember this guy's name?” Hotch hoped. 

“Not his real name. He had some lame-ass nickname. Howler? Screamer? It was a monkey thing," Pearlman shrugged. 

“Tell us what you know,” Hotch ordered. 

“Sir, me and Hays went to the bar once with Shaw. She left our group to go talk to this grungy guy by the pool table. He was scrubby. Unshaven. Wore leathers. He kept telling Cathy how he wanted to take her to California on his bike. She was eating it up like candy.” 

“Cadet Shaw was dating a biker who wanted to take her to California?” LaFlamme winced. “You never thought to mention this before? What’s the matter with you?” he asked, popping her in one shoulder. 

“Sir, this guy wasn’t any biker. He was faking it. Playing a role, like an actor, a bad actor at that. He was leading Cathy on, but she was too blind to see it,” Pearlman replied, rubbing her shoulder. 

“How did you know he was lying?” Reid asked.

“He was acting all bad-ass, trying to make her think he was tough and dangerous, but it was all for show.” 

“Do you have proof beyond your bad feelings?” Hotch asked. 

“The five-hundred dollar haircut. The expensive aftershave. His leathers weren’t shabby in the rear. They were so new they squeaked. They hadn’t been worn very often or very long, and certainly not on any cross-country journey from California, like he was telling Cathy. Besides that, the only motorcycle out front that night was a $6,000 Harley Davidson."

“Certainly not the bike of a rag-tag, low-life pool hustler,” Reid agreed. 

“How do you know so much about motorcycles?” Hotch asked. 

“My brother has a trick-truck, muscle car, and cycle shop in Portland. I dabble myself now and then,” Pearlman shrugged. 

“How can you be so sure he was lying to Cadet Shaw?” Rossi wondered. 

“It was all a big front. Anyone with half a brain could have seen through him. I told Cathy that, but she said I was jealous that he liked her and not me. After Cathy vanished, I saw the guy again later,” Pearlman replied. 

“Where?” LaFlamme wondered. 

“At the University of Maine campus. He was dressed up – suit, tie, shoes. He had about the same level of unshaven stubble on his face though. He also had a long line of giggling, baby-blonde co-eds trailing after him like groupies after a rock star. This guy thinks he’s pretty special,” Pearlman laughed. Reid was jotting down notes, smiling sideways at the description.

“Sociology?” Bonifant asked.

“Ma’am?” Pearlman shook her head. 

“That sounds like one of the sociology professors. We did seminars with them, remember? Team building classes. I can see his face, but I can’t think of his name,” Bonifant frowned. 

“Oh. Oh…. Oh, yeah,” LaFlamme muttered. “I think I know which one you mean. That insufferable prick who acted like he was so much better than everyone else. Can’t think of his name either though. He’s from one of those Ivy League schools. Rich daddy, model mommy, what’s his name? He was such a cunt,” Brett winced. "Pardon my French, but he was. When I stop trying to think of his name, it will come to me,” he promised. 

“Our guy probably doesn’t even ride a motorcycle,” Sudbrink commented. “I mean, how could he kidnap these women and get away on a motorcycle, and not be spotted? Wouldn’t you be kicking and screaming?” he asked Pearlman. 

“I’d scream,” she nodded. 

“Before or after you broke his neck?” LaFlamme wondered with a brotherly grin.

“Maybe both,” she smiled. 

“Whoever is taking these women has got to have a bigger vehicle,” Bonifant interjected. 

“Agreed. But we should follow up on the fake biker,” Hotch said. Reid was jotting more notes. 

“What needs to be stressed is that this man is not a big, dumb brute,” Dr. Lind put in. “He earned their trust through the precise calculation of what to say and what to do to put them at ease. He’s not frightening until he turns on you.” 

“Is the vehicle important?” another one of the police chiefs asked. “We have a few high school boys with minor criminal records who are inordinately obsessed with their cars, and I thought it might have a connection.”

“Two of the missing, Terry Haverty Letourneau and Miranda Horn, were last seen at the Bangor Greyhound station. Glory Lovelace was stranded here in Greenville because her car died,” Dr. Lind added in. “Kristie Northland’s mother believes she might have hitched a ride with someone, because when she ran away before, that’s how she made it to California, before she was arrested and brought back home. Miranda Horn had a car registered in her name, but it was never found. It might not be important, but it’s too early in the case to dismiss the connection.”

“I don’t think your high school offenders are connected, but you’re welcome to add them to the list of those to be investigated. We are not dealing with a novice,” Rossi said. “These are not the crimes of a young, inexperienced offender.” 

“None of the women are local,” Stevens said, squinting at the board. All the federal agents stared back at the notes and the photos, then stared at the Greenville day deputy. “Well, what I mean is, even if they were living here when they vanished, or passing through when they vanished, they weren’t originally Mainers.”

“How does that help?” JJ asked. 

“The observation could be relevant,” Reid replied. 

“We already know they’re not locals,” JJ muttered. “Thanks for restating the obvious, Skippy.” 

“These are small, close communities,” Reid said as he faced the board again. 

“Meaning what?” JJ laughed. Reid blushed and fought for words and thoughts.

“Everyone knows everyone else. A close community would engender. A feeling of family. He is preying on women who are not local. Women who are not part of his family,” Reid stammered. “That would lend credence to the thought. That he must be a member of the local community.” 

“We don’t know if he is local or not,” JJ scoffed.

“I know where you’re headed with this,” Sudbrink said as JJ rolled her eyes and curled up her mouth in a smirk reminiscent of Billy Idol. Reid seethed at her, and bit his mouth closed. 

Morgan nudged JJ subtly in the arm as he faced the board too. JJ ignored Derek’s hint. Sudbrink interjected himself into the exchange again. 

“Either he has emotional ties to the community, and feels qualms about hurting someone who might recognize him, or who might be family in actual blood or an emotional sense. Or he must realize that if a local woman went missing, her absence will be more quickly noted,” Sudbrink said. Reid’s hands twitched and jolted upwards.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. 

“That’s not good,” Sudbrink said. “That means he’s in a position which allows him to know personal facts about his victims. Maybe he doesn’t have to befriend them first. What about a guidance counselor?” Sudbrink asked. Janeen laughed.

“Oh, Jack, come on. Jared is weird but he’s not that weird,” she called out. “Besides, he wouldn’t have access to information about women who aren’t local to the area.” 

“The high school guidance counselor. Jared Jackson. He’s not everyone’s cup of tea,” Stevens explained to Hotch. “A few of the parents have come in and complained about him being over-friendly with the daughters, but I think he’s trying to be one of the kids in order to put them at ease with him.”

“He’s a perv. I don’t like him,” Sudbrink growled. 

“You don’t like him cause Jenny’s got a crush on him,” Janeen smiled.

“She’s fifteen. He’s thirty-five. He’s got no business driving my daughter home from school in the middle of the day,” Sudbrink retorted.

“You were on a call,” Janeen replied. “Lori couldn’t get away from her hospital shift. What else was he supposed to do?” 

“Jackson drove Jenny home, and he sat there alone with my daughter for an hour before Lori got home. I am not comfortable with that,” Sudbrink insisted. “Put him on the list,” he told Stevens. 

“Yes, Boss,” the day deputy agreed.

“Jack…” Janeen chided him. 

“He fits with the criteria,” Sudbrink insisted stubbornly. 

“Don’t fixate on one suspect at this point,” Dr. Lind warned. The BAU were exchanging looks which said they might be worried that Sudbrink had a personal vendetta to score here, but no one spoke up. 

“This is what we have for the start of a profile—our offender is a white male in a position which allows him access to and interaction with his victims. No one has witnessed a single abduction. Our offender is between the ages of 30 and 50, looks perfectly normal, acts perfectly normal, and will not seem like the type of man who would commit these crimes. These women don’t trust easily, but they immediately trust him. Why? There is so much that we won’t know until we find these women” Hotch said. “If you wish to return to your local municipalities, and spread out the search, we ask that you keep in contact with us here about any leads or any setbacks. Rotate your personnel to send at least one person from each jurisdiction to monitor the hotline. Thank you for your time.” 

As the large group broke into smaller groups, Reid waved at LaFlamme, hoping to garner his attention. 

“Chief Master Sergeant?”

“Yeah?” LaFlamme called out over the growing noise, pushing through the crowd to reach the desk where Reid was leaning. 

“How is Whitman?” Reid asked. Brett’s eyes got wide with surprise, and he nodded slowly.

“Sorry I bit your head off the other night.” 

“No offense taken,” Reid assured him. 

“It’s going to take time for him to process this. He’s relieved Sissy is alive, but finding out she’s been hiding from him all these years, it’s dragged up all those hurt feelings about how she left him so abruptly. He keeps asking me if he seems like the kind of guy you would need to hide from. He needs time. That’s all. Thanks for letting him know she is okay though.”

“You’re welcome,” Reid said. “Is he the kind of guy you would need to hide from?” the doctor wondered. LaFlamme chuckled. 

“No, he’s not. Let me know if there’s any way we can help.” 

“The name of the sociology professor?” 

“Still thinking, sorry.”

“There is actually another way you can help. Do you have a plane I could borrow?” 

“A plane?” LaFlamme nodded, as if every day, someone might have made this request of him. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you,” Reid replied. JJ was snickering behind Reid. LaFlamme gave her a nasty stare before leaving. JJ made a face back once Brett had departed. 

“Why do you keep staring at the board?” Jareau asked Reid. 

“I feel as though something obvious is staring back at me, but I’m missing it,” Reid said. Dr. Lind hummed and straightened one of the pages.

“I have the same feeling,” Simone confided. JJ rolled her eyes dramatically as she turned away. “My dear, you should see a doctor about that,” Dr. Lind added in a soothing voice while picking up another cupcake.

“What?” JJ asked, face flushing. 

“That uncontrollable eye and facial movement you keep experiencing,” Dr. Lind continued in her mother voice. “I couldn’t help but notice it. How long have you had this problem?” 

Nearby, Sudbrink bit back a snort. The rest of the BAU team was suddenly interested in anything else in the room. 

“I hope it’s nothing serious. But it wouldn’t hurt to get it checked out. You should see a doctor. There’s a very nice optometrist down the road. Dry eyes? Stress? Nervous tick? Damaged nerves from too much sun exposure? Not to be taken lightly,” Dr. Lind concluded with a tender cluck or two before taking a bite of cupcake.

“Yes, ma’am,” JJ intoned, frowning and biting back her anger.


	22. Assignment and Reassignment

22 - Assignment and Reassignment

 

“If I could speak with the BAU team for one moment longer?” Dr. Lind requested, after finished her cupcake. The BAU team made a semi-circle and waited. Reid wondered if Hotch had told everyone about the situation in New Orleans and Schultz’s request. Garcia would surely have warned Morgan. Would Morgan have warned JJ or Torg? Hotch undoubtedly warned Rossi. Maybe they even discussed it at length. Whatever the circumstance, everyone had on their best poker face. Hotch was holding his breath.

“SAIC Schultz has asked for help with the case in New Orleans. The hotline tips are dwindling here. We have an over abundance of personnel at our disposal, and happily all of you are familiar with the New Orleans case, except for you, Dr. Reid. Therefore, I would like to temporarily split this team, in order to send Schultz some much-needed help. He’s floundering as badly you were. Tanisha remains missing. Would anyone like to volunteer?” Dr. Lind asked, her voice rising hopefully as a crooked smile worked onto her face. 

This was so unreal for the team. Strauss would never have asked for volunteers, let alone have done so in such a meek manner. Dr. Lind wasn’t being modest when she had stated she was not management material. In the silence, everyone on the team looked to Hotch. He cleared his throat and stared at Dr. Lind. Simone’s hopeful smile crumbled. 

“I understand your reluctance. You’re worried what my ulterior motives are. This isn’t about Bureau politics, and I’m not playing you against each other in a calculated, Machiavellian game. I genuinely want to help Schultz, and we do have an abundance of manpower here with very few tasks available. Going once? Going twice? Very well. Agent Hotchner, it’s your call who to send,” Dr. Lind conceded. 

“Morgan, you connected with Tanisha’s parents faster and better than anyone else on the team. You would be best able to help Schultz,” Hotch started. 

“Yes, sir,” Morgan agreed at once. He was clearly relieved to have been chosen. His body language was immediately more relaxed, and he smiled again. 

“Rossi, you go with Morgan to New Orleans,” Hotch decided not a second later. Reid understood that they had discussed it. It was hard to tell if Dave was happy to go, but it was easy to tell he was not at all surprised to have been selected. 

“We’ll get down there A.S.A.P.,” Dave promised. 

“Torgeson, I’d like for you and Pearlman to head over to the University of Maine and see if you can track down this fake biker or sociology professor that she was talking about, the one connected to Cadet Shaw,” Hotch continued. 

“Yes, sir,” Torg replied. He raced away to find Pearlman even before Hotch was finished with the rest of the assignments. Morgan bowed his head and laughed softly at Torg’s eagerness. 

“JJ and I will coordinate with the LEOs on the local investigations,” Hotch concluded.

“Good plan,” Dr. Lind approved. Hotch faced Reid, and gasped softly in embarrassment. He realized he hadn’t given Spencer a task. Reid had certainly noticed though. He was giving Hotch a stare which made Aaron glad they weren’t sharing a bed tonight. 

“Doc?! I got you a plane!” LaFlamme approached, bouncing around like an anxious hound. 

“As you were, Master Sergeant,” Dr. Lind interrupted. “Dr. Reid, why exactly do you need a plane?” she wanted to know. LaFlamme stopped, and paced around a couple feet away. He had a sense that Reid was in trouble, and so was he, by default or association either one. 

“To conduct an aerial search for clandestine grave sites, I will require an aircraft,” Reid replied simply. 

“Do I need to remind you that you are limited to desk duty?” 

“If the aircraft is equipped with visual recording devices, I would be able to review the search footage from a remote location. However, I believe it would be more prudent, and a more efficient use of time, if I were able to direct the search while it was being conducted,” Reid pressed.

“Reid,” Lind frowned. 

“If you would prefer that I stay in the station house, I could explain the search pattern I have in mind,” Reid said, pulling his map out of his satchel and spreading it out on the desk. He moved his coffee cup and picked up his cupcake. 

LaFlamme made a bee-line for the desk and hovered over the map. Dr. Lind stood at the head of the map and stared at the features from above. Hotch marched over and leaned in as well, standing next to Reid. Spencer pulled a small flashlight out of his satchel. 

“What I have in mind is to search the areas around Dyer Road, heading northwest around the western half of Moosehead Lake. Oblique light will make the valleys and depressions in the landscape easier to target. If there are curious land formations which lend themselves to the topography of clandestine gravesites, we might be able to tell from the air far easier than doing a physical canvass of the entire region on the ground.”

LaFlamme peered at the map. Reid turned his flashlight on, and placed it level with the table. Then he raised and lowered it. To outsiders, it might have appeared like he was goofing around, but Hotch knew that Reid was calculating complex angles and flight patterns as he stared at the most prominent topographical features displayed before them. 

“I’ve seen forensic lighting used in crime scenes, to highlight footprints and trace evidence that isn’t visible with the naked eye in regular light. You would need to be in the air at the right time in the right place. You could only use oblique light at sunrise and twilight,” Lind pointed out. “Have you considered FLIR or ground penetrating radar in addition to sunlight?” 

“I had considered it, but I wasn’t sure if we would have that kind of technology at our disposal,” Reid replied. 

“We have helicopters and planes with both FLIR and GPR,” LaFlamme answered. “That’s a lot of ground to cover though. It will take a good week.” 

“We can start small, on the western side of the lake, to see if the tactic works, and spread out from there,” Dr. Lind directed. 

Reid clicked the flashlight off and on, off and on, his eyes burning holes in the map below. Hotch reached over and gently pulled the flashlight away from him. Spencer stared at Hotch and pined softly. Hotch gave him back his flashlight. Reid clicked it on and off, and Hotch swelled with annoyance. Reid put the flashlight back in his satchel. 

“We will have a brief window this morning, and a brief window this evening, the two points where the sun will be at the correct angle for an oblique light search. In short, we should hurry, because we’re burning daylight,” Reid said. 

“Use the oblique light when appropriate, and use FLIR and GPR the rest of the day. I’m sure it will take some time to cover the area you have marked here,” Lind commented, pointing to the map. “Like I said, start with a small sample patch of ground, a control location, and analyze those results first.”

“Is there a cemetery anywhere around Moosehead Lake?” Reid asked LaFlamme.

“A couple,” Brett nodded. 

“That would work for a control test. Data collected from the aerial search can be uploaded to computers, which will then be able to cross reference the layers of information, giving us a picture of what lies underneath the snow and underneath the surface of the ground. Although it is true that water vapor can interfere with the accuracy of FLIR readings,” Reid murmured, mostly to himself. “The morning fog is going to be a problem, as will any precipitation.” 

“They are making improvements in FLIR all the time. Newer models are better able to see through fog and water vapor. The pictures are a lot clearer than they used to be,” LaFlamme promised. 

“You’ll be recording the data while you’re flying?” Lind asked LaFlamme.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Which you could transmit back here to Dr. Reid so he couldn’t have to be out in the field?” she asked. 

“Yes, ma’am, but….”

“But what, Chief Master Sergeant?”

“Dr. Reid is right. This would be faster and easier if he was in the helicopter with me. He could interpret what’s on the ground, and what’s on the monitors, and we would be able to adjust our search accordingly if an anomaly caught his eye,” LaFlamme offered. “He knows what he’s looking for. I’d just be flying circles.” 

Lind was glancing back and forth between LaFlamme and Reid. Spencer was giving her big sad eyes again. 

“Reid, you keep doing that Bambi Eyes thing, and one of these hunters is gonna shoot you,” Lind commented with a slight smile. “Agent Hotchner. Change of plans. I want you to go with Dr. Reid, and supervise these aerial searches. More to point, I want you to make sure that Dr. Reid does not over-exert himself.”

“If you think so,” Hotch hesitated.

“Dr. Reid. Don’t turn this aerial hunt into a search and rescue mission. You are expressly forbidden from piloting the aircraft. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reid promised.

“You may accompany the flights in session,” Lind acquiesced. Reid did his very best not to leap up and down with excitement. 

“Ma’am?” Hotch asked. “I don’t mean to disagree, but what about coordinating the local investigations?” 

“You go with Reid. Agent Jareau and I will cover the local investigations. It will give us a chance to chat,” Dr. Lind replied. JJ, who had been just close enough to eavesdrop, was anything but thrilled at that prospect. She gave Hotch a begging stare, but he couldn’t respond because Lind was watching him. 

“Doc, are you ready?” LaFlamme asked, taking Reid’s shoulders and giving him a tiny grin and shake. “Fifteen minutes prep, ten minutes flight time. We can put the birds down in the grocery store lot three blocks over, but we have to go clear that lot in a hurry.”

Reid shouldered his satchel and picked up his cane. It was then that he took in the expression on Hotch’s face. 

“Oh,” Reid said simply. “Will you be all right?” 

“What?” LaFlamme asked.

“Helicopters. Will you be okay?” Reid asked again.

“What?” Brett asked. 

“His last ride in a helicopter was a search and rescue mission.” 

“Oh, so you’re familiar with the Seahawk?”

“Intimately,” Hotch rumbled. “I’ll be fine,” Hotch replied to Reid’s searching, pitying eyes. 

“Are you only saying that because you don’t want me to think you’re too scared to go up in the air in a helicopter?” 

“Shut up,” Hotch growled, sliding Reid’s coat up onto his shoulders for him. 

“You could direct from the ground,” Spencer offered, the hint of a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

“Shut up,” Hotch growled again, nudging him towards the door. 

“Cupcake,” Reid blurted, bouncing for a second or two. Hotch hurried back, snatching up Reid’s mug of coffee and the second cupcake.


	23. Search and Rescue

23 - Search and Rescue

 

“Doc? Are you there?” LaFlamme whispered.

“Dr. Reid here,” Spencer replied. 

“We need to put down for a few minutes.” 

“Affirmative,” Reid answered, touching his mouthpiece, moving it to a more comfortable location against his chin. The huge helmet he was wearing buffered the sound of helicopter blades, but he found his shadow was very unnerving. In silhouette, he had the head of a giant insect, with bulges on the sides where the ear covers were hidden beneath the shape of the plastic outer cover of the protective head gear. 

Spaulding was seated in the co-pilot seat, drinking in the surroundings with glee. Their pilot was maneuvering around to follow LaFlamme’s bird down to an open space which was almost directly below. Moosehead Lake was glimmering and shining in the morning sunlight. Its irregular shape was surrounded by forests and private coves. Cabins and residences were tucked in around the wide lake with its many twisted fingers. The trees and coves were white with a few patches of dark green where the wind and the wash from the helicopter blades was shaking the fallen snow from the branches of the pines and other evergreen trees.

“You’ve flown a Chinook?” the pilot was peppering Spaulding with questions, eager for the interaction with her once he learned she was a veteran, a pilot, and a dog person. 

“The CH-47? Yep, I’ve flown a lot of birds,” Spaulding said modestly. 

“Except the attack craft?” he asked. “Apaches? Blackhawks?” 

“I’ve co-piloted a Blackhawk, but that was for service, restock, and refueling missions over the Gulf. The Brass gets nervous when female pilots take the expensive birds out. I guess they’re worried we’ll misplace it at the mall or something. Forget where we parked,” she joked sarcastically. 

The young pilot smiled dreamily at her. Spaulding shook her head at him and pointed out the front screen.

“Better watch out. You’re gonna put down on your buddy there.” 

The pilot swung his attention back to the monitors and the landing approach. But it was too late. LaFlamme had noted his undue interest in Spaulding. 

“Captain, is that young man being fresh with you?” LaFlamme asked. 

“He’s all right,” Spaulding responded, a hint of a smile. 

“Sorry,” the pilot whispered and mouthed.

“That’s ‘Sorry, ma’am’, Pierce,” LaFlamme corrected sternly.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Pierce blushed. 

Once the chopper was safely on the ground, the soldier in charge of the rear passenger compartment patted Reid on the shoulder and then swung the heavy door open. The gust of wind was breath-taking. It rushed into every inch of the aircraft. Reid clung to the metal handle, slid down to a seated position, and eased his way to the ground. The young man next to him bounced to the ground with a graceful leap, and put out an arm to steady Reid. 

He shouted above the whirring overhead. “Watch your step, sir!” 

“Thanks!” Reid shouted back. “Not a ‘sir’!” he clarified.

“Yes, sir,” the kid replied anyway. 

Spaulding leapt down and followed Reid. The pilot remained in his seat, but popped open the window for a moment or two. The crisp, northern winds whipped through the helicopter. 

LaFlamme and Hotch were on the ground. LaFlamme hovered carefully beside Hotch, who looked shaken and pale and slightly nauseated. Aaron bent down at the waist, hands propped against his thighs, taking deep breaths. Reid rushed forward as quickly as he could, putting a hand on Hotch’s shoulder. 

“You all right?!” Reid shouted. Hotch stood up straight and squared his frame.

“Woozy,” Aaron admitted. Reid pulled off his helmet and set it down at his feet so he could study Hotch more closely. “The snow. The white. The swinging back and forth,” Hotch added, taking another deep breath and bending over again. 

“I thought you said he’s flown on search and rescue missions before,” LaFlamme questioned Reid over Hotch’s head.

“He crash-landed in Bitterroot, and we went to rescue him,” Reid answered truthfully, one hand resting on Hotch's bent back. 

“Oh crap. That explains it,” LaFlamme laughed. “Why didn’t you say so?” he asked Hotch. “Post traumatic flashbacks. It’s common. It’s normal.” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Hotch insisted, standing up again, taking another deep breath. “I’m not fine,” he admitted as his knees buckled under him. Reid let out an exclamation as he put both arms around Hotch to catch him. They both tumbled gracelessly to the snowy ground. 

“Dr. Reid, do you want me to fly him back to base? Get Cadet Galwick to check him out?” Spaulding asked.

“I’m fine,” Hotch babbled. 

“He’s light-headed, and I think he might be in shock,” Reid fretted. “You should lie down and bend your knees up, in order to push blood towards your head.” 

“I’m fine,” Hotch mumbled, taking more deep breaths. Reid rubbed his back comfortingly. “I’ll be okay in a second,” Hotch promised, mortified. He kept trying to stand up, and Reid kept pulling him back down. 

“I haven’t spotted any anomalies thus far, but I would like to be able to scan another section of the lake perimeter before taking the footage back to the station for review tonight. We can start again fresh in the morning,” Reid replied. “Deep breaths. Deep breaths,” he added as Hotch gulped like a fish. 

“Dr. Reid, I’ll fly Hotch back to base. You and Spaulding and Pierce keep at it. But stop letting that kid flirt with my Captain,” LaFlamme grinned broadly. “OW!” he bellowed as Spaulding slapped him in the back of the head. 

“It’s low blood sugar. I should eat something,” Hotch muttered to Reid. 

“Why don’t you take back the footage we already have back to the base and run it through the computers? See if there’s anything we missed with the naked eye,” Reid suggested gently. 

“How come roller coasters make you barf but flying doesn’t bother you?” Hotch asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Reid answered truthfully. 

“I feel like an idiot,” Hotch moaned. Spencer got one shoulder under Hotch’s arm pit and helped him to his feet, dusting off the snow that was clinging to his legs and rear. “What if we set up a temporary field HQ?” Hotch suggested. “Use the onboard computers of one of the birds to scan the information and overlay the passes?”

“Is that do-able?” Reid asked LaFlamme as he did his best to balance Hotch. 

“A temporary HQ is a great idea. I’m gonna need IT for that. Computers are not my thing. This space would work here. Bring a couple portable units, some tenting, a heater would be nice. Coffee,” Brett whispered reverently. “Can do. Come on. We’ll pop back to base for what we need, and…”

“I’ll wait here,” Hotch insisted, shaking off the arm that LaFlamme slid into his.

“Agent Hotchner?” Brett smiled. “It’s cold, it’s windy, and there’s no shelter or bathroom.”

“No. I’ll wait,” Hotch said firmly. 

“You don’t even wanna get back in the bird?” LaFlamme questioned. 

“Um…no,” Hotch decided. The whirring of the blades overhead was making him queasy again. He took heavy breaths and closed his eyes. He was very green around the gills. 

“Hotch, you can’t sit here in the middle of a snowy field for two hours,” Reid chided gently. 

“Yes, I can,” Aaron retorted. The echo of Jack in his voice made Reid smile sadly. Spaulding and LaFlamme both gave him disbelieving stares, but it was the patient and sad expression on Reid’s face that made Hotch truly burn red. 

“Do you want me to fly back with you?” Spencer asked. Hotch wanted to curl up and die, right there. He took a deep breath and glared at Reid, his brows bunching together, his mouth becoming one tight, short, red mark in his face. 

“No,” Aaron growled. 

“Hotch, you can’t sit out here,” Reid frowned back at him. “You could catch a cold. You could get eaten by a bear. You could….”

“The bears are asleep. It’s winter,” Aaron responded. 

Reid unzipped his flight suit, opened his jacket, and loosened his tie. He tugged the dark blue item off. 

“Come here,” Reid ordered in a persuasive, honeyed voice. 

“Why?” Hotch edged back nervously.

“Bend down,” Reid added.

“Why?” Hotch asked again. Spencer wrapped his tie around Hotch’s head, covering his eyes. 

“Most of the stimuli disturbing you is visual in nature. A blindfold should make the flight back less disruptive,” Reid explained. “Stop pawing at it,” he added, taking Hotch’s hands away. Spaulding and LaFlamme looked at each other unsurely. 

“Dr. Reid, you are not parading me around like this,” Hotch protested.

“No one is parading you around. I’ll take the blindfold off once we get back to the base at Bangor. It’s fifteen, twenty minutes,” Reid said, pulling his hand and tugging him not towards the helicopter he had ridden out, but towards the other bird. “This way,” Reid murmured. 

Spaulding and LaFlamme exchanged a couple words or sentences, and Brett sprinted back to his aircraft. He was lifting into the air before the other young man and Spaulding and Reid were able to get the blindfolded Hotch strapped into their helicopter. 

“Take us up nice and easy, Pierce,” Spaulding called out.

“Yes, ma’am!” the pilot responded as the other soldier closed the door and strapped himself into the co-pilot’s seat. Spaulding sat on Hotch’s right side. Aaron fumbled all around to find Reid, who was leaning in to study the information on the monitors. There were a couple moments of anxious quiet as they lifted off, because everyone was watching Hotch, no one more so than Reid. 

“All right there?” Spencer asked, patting Hotch’s arm.

“Fine,” Aaron whispered woozily. 

“Good,” Reid answered. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” Hotch sighed. 

“Don’t be self-conscious. We all have weaknesses, whether we like it or not,” Reid said, one eye on Hotch and the other eye on the monitor bank to his left. Reid sat down in the seat on the end of the row and buckled himself in. He folded Hotch’s arm into his own arm and held on tight. 

“You better not breathe a word of this to the others,” Aaron warned, his voice carrying over the com system as Spaulding put a helmet on him. 

“Nope,” Reid bubbled. “Not a word.” 

“Let’s talk about something happy,” Hotch insisted. 

“Okay,” Reid replied. 

“Isn’t anyone going to tell me what’s going on between LaFlamme and Spaulding?” Aaron went on. Luckily he could not see the arch stare Amy was giving him from his other side. 

“They’re old friends,” Reid said simply, mindful that that arch stare was swinging his direction. 

“He and his flight crew had to crash-land in Iraq. My team pulled their butts out of a sand dune, and helped them get their cargo to safety. He’s been a good friend ever since,” Spaulding said. 

“Friend? Or ‘friend’?” Hotch asked. 

“We dated briefly.” 

“And?” Hotch pressed. 

“It didn’t work out.” 

“I don’t understand why there were difficulties. It’s obvious you are attracted to one another. Your personalities mesh together comfortably. You share many interests in common. You both work adrenaline-fueled occupations. You both like dogs. You make an attractive couple. Your children would be both aesthetically pleasing, and blessed with high intelligence. Why did it not work out?” Reid asked. 

“Is this the point in our working relationship when I need to remind you that my private life is none of your business?” Spaulding said, not with venom but with obvious discomfort. 

“If you wish to keep your private life private, I understand completely. But that will only make me even more curious what you do not wish to discuss,” Reid answered, softening his voice. 

“He invited me home for Thanksgiving.” 

“Oh my god! Stuffing! What a deal-breaker!” Hotch interjected playfully. Reid hushed him by squeezing his arm. 

“Meeting the family of one’s intended can be both awkward and stressful,” Reid consoled. “It did not go well?” 

“His mother didn’t like me. His grandmother didn’t like me. His sister didn’t like me. His cousins didn’t like me,” Spaulding rambled for a moment before she caught herself. 

“I can relate,” Reid promised.

“Does he like you?” Aaron asked. 

“Obviously,” she answered. 

“Do you like him?” 

“Obviously,” Reid answered. 

“That’s all that matters. You’re not marrying his family. You’re marrying him,” Hotch told Spaulding. 

“I’m not marrying anyone!” Amy exclaimed, yanking her hand away when Hotch reached out for it. 

“He proposed. You said no,” Reid surmised. “In front of his family. Ouch.” 

“Of course I said no. His family hated me. They don’t believe he could be happy with me. You know what? Who would like me? I’m not all sweet and pretty. I’m not one of those ‘roll over and play dead’ wifey types. I’m not the kind of girl you take home to your mother. I’ve always known that, and I’m okay with that. So can we please change the subject now?!” Spaulding shrieked, then cleared her throat and calmed down. 

“Okay,” Hotch, Reid, Pierce, and the other soldier chorused, feeling chastised and embarrassed. 

“I’d take you home to my mother,” Pierce added softly. Spaulding hung her head and groaned in annoyance.


	24. Yesterday Echoes

24 - Yesterday Echoes

 

“I’m sorry if we said anything that offended you,” Reid said as he helped stuff equipment into a large duffle bag that he didn’t have any hope of being able to lift off the ground. Spaulding was standing nearby with Snippy dancing around at her feet, his toenails clicking on the tarmac as he dashed back and forth. 

“Sorry I yelled at you,” Spaulding offered back. 

“You had every right to yell,” Reid insisted. 

“Touchy subject,” she murmured. 

“Clearly.”

LaFlamme was nearby, directing his cadets around one way and the other. He was turning today’s instructional class time into a drill – getting the cadets to pack all the necessary equipment for a make-shift in-field HQ. He was going to fly most of them out to set up the camp as well. He smiled and waved across to Spaulding and Reid. Spencer waved back. 

“I wanted to say….” Reid began. Spaulding shot him a dirty look, and he hesitated, but not for long. “I do know it is the social norm for a woman to be modest, to downplay compliments, and to be mistrustful of those who would… What is the phrase? Pump her tires too strongly?”

“Pump my tires?” Amy almost smiled. 

“It is a metaphoric way of saying ‘to build up another’s ego’. I am not attempting to build your ego. I do want you to know that you are most certainly a woman that any man should be proud to take home to his mother.”

“Says you,” Spaulding replied, clearing her throat a little. 

“You believe I am attempting insincere flattery?” 

“Doc, you don’t have to…”

“You are kind and intelligent. You have fought for your country. You risk your life on a daily basis to protect me. You like animals. Animals like you,” Reid insisted, pointing to Snippy, who gazed up at Spaulding in absolute adoration. 

“Who wants a biscuit?” Amy whispered, slipping another piece of dog treat out of her pocket and down to her pet. 

“I would be very hard pressed to find anything disagreeable about your person. I know you’ve been played for a fool in the past, and I understand your trepidation about LaFlamme’s family, but do not shy away from a meaningful relationship with someone who might make you very happy.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Spaulding blurted. 

“No one said you had to get married to have a meaningful relationship.”

“I don’t want to sleep around either.”

“No one said you had to sleep around either. Go out. Have dinner. Smile. Laugh. Find a little piece of happiness in the world. You don’t have to spend your life being somber and aloof because you’ve made mistakes in the past.”

“I can’t believe you are giving me relationship advice,” she murmured, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or slug him. 

“Who better than me? You’ve had a pretty close-up view of some of my more spectacular relationship disasters. If you haven’t watched them personally, you’ve certainly read the reports,” Reid mused. Spaulding shrugged and nodded. “What I’m saying is, you can have fun. It would be okay. It’s kinda nice.”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve been so happy lately, haven’t you?” she frowned. 

“I’m not saying being in a relationship is always perfect,” Reid amended. “It’s not. But being alone versus having a friend, someone you love, someone you can trust, to spend time with? It’s nice. That’s all. Hotch makes me happy.”

“Yep.”

“Most of the time.”

“When you’re not contemplating strangling him with his own tie.”

“Among other things. A little sex now and then wouldn’t kill you either.” 

“I am so gonna break your neck if you don’t shut up,” Amy warned. 

“Don't be embarrassed. Physical intimacy is a basic human need.”

“I have one word for you.”

“What’s that?” 

“Pain. Death. Dismemberment.”

“That’s three words,” Reid pointed out. 

“My sex life is none of your business.” 

“I have one word for you: Davydov. With all due respect, your sex life almost got me killed not so long ago.”

“Yeah, well, I apologized, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, so, um….” Reid’s voice trailed off nervously. 

“Guys don’t get it. You never do,” Amy said. 

“Get what?” 

“When men get married, it’s all good for you. But when women get married, we start to disappear, a little piece at a time. We go where you want to go. We eat what you want to eat. We live where you want to live. In little ways, as time goes on, we are less and less ourselves, and we become only what function we serve in your lives. You remain yourselves. We become wives.” 

“I don’t understand,” Reid whispered. 

“Ask your mom to explain, Doc.” 

“I will, when she’s talking to me again.” 

“Ask Korsakova to explain then. She’s been married. She’ll know what I’m talking about,” Spaulding sighed. 

“Are you afraid of losing who you are if you get romantically involved with someone?” 

“Doc, a married man is still a man, but a married woman is always a wife first. We are defined by our husbands, who he is, what he does. We follow you if you change jobs. We give up our careers to give you children. We give up our identities and become your possession. Yes. I’m afraid of losing who I am, because once that ring goes on my finger, I begin to turn invisible. My accomplishments. My goals. My dreams. They take a backseat to the whims and wants of my husband. So, yeah, I am scared of losing myself, with good reason.” 

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Reid sighed. 

“What fairytale realm do you live in?” Spaulding chuckled grimly. 

“I think you and LaFlamme would be happy together. He completes you.” 

“Maybe you should mind your own business,” she suggested gently. 

“Okay. You leave me no choice. I’m going to have to give him your work schedule and your private cell phone number. He’s been dropping hints ever since we got here.”

“You’d better be careful of yourself,” Spaulding warned, watching Snippy chasing snowflakes. “I’m gonna stuff your tweedy butt into one of these duffel bags, drop you into that big lake, and they will never, ever find you.”

Reid grinned at Spaulding, and nodded. “You might find I’m meaner and more dangerous than I look,” he warned back playfully.

“Yeah, I know you are,” she agreed. “Snippy….” she scolded tenderly as the whippet put his head into the duffel bag and snatched up one end of an electric cord. She took it away from him and dropped it back inside the bag. 

“What if he’s not burying them? What if he’s weighing them down, and putting them in the lake?” Reid murmured, packing the second duffel with more computer equipment. 

“I hope you’re wrong. It will take forever to search the perimeter of the damned lake, let alone having to dredge the son of a bitch,” Spaulding murmured. 

“Hm,” Reid hummed. “We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed.” 

“Doc? About Joy’s sister?”

“Yes?” 

“This isn’t a search and rescue mission. It’s a search and recovery mission at this point. There’s no way she’s still alive, is there?” Amy asked. 

“You are more than likely correct in that assessment.”

“Man, I feel so bad for her. For both of them. But mostly for Joy, because she’s just… she’s so vulnerable, Doc.” 

“I feel bad for her too. What’s worse is that Joy knows all too well that Glory is never coming home alive,” Reid admitted. 

“How do you think Joy is going to react when you eventually do find Glory, or at least what’s left of her? Joy cries at the drop of a hat now. Do you think those tears will ever run out?” 

“I’m not afraid of how Joy will react when we find Glory. I am more afraid of how she will react when we find whoever killed Glory.”

“Do you think she’ll hurt him? She doesn’t strike me as the violent sort,” Spaulding said. 

“It’s hard to tell how grief and anger will make a person react,” Reid answered. He waited for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Amy, I do understand. Yesterday echoes in our heads whether we acknowledge it or not. Part of your reluctance is the fear of losing your identity, but also, Brett reminds you too much of your father. You’re afraid you’ll lose him the same way you lost your father. You’re afraid one day he’ll get in his plane, and fly away on a mission, and you’ll never see him again. You’ll be left with nothing but the memories. You have struggled since your father's death because you never had closure. You never got to say goodbye. The idea of going through that again terrifies you. You keep Brett at arms’ length for your own good. It's a coping mechanism. It hurts less to be distant and deny your feelings than it does to let yourself love too much and risk losing him.” 

“That’s enough,” Spaulding scolded Reid, turning away into the wind and drying off her face. “Don’t say another word. I mean it.”

Reid bit his mouth closed, and stared down at the ground. Snippy had his head in the second duffel bag. His tail was wagging back and forth wildly. It stopped suddenly, standing up straight. He pulled the end of another cord out of the bag, and took off running, dragging the bright orange strip across the tarmac like drawing a neon line between two points. Spaulding put two fingers in her mouth, whistling loudly to get the whippet’s attention. Snippy ignored her entirely. LaFlamme’s head shot up at the piercing sound. Spaulding took off after her dog, chasing the other end of the cord as it bounced and twisted across the pavement. 

“Ready to head out?” LaFlamme called across the distance. Snippy ran straight to him, dashed around his legs, and panted happily as Spaulding stopped and started winding up the cord in a perfect circle. 

“Bad dog,” Amy chided. Snippy barked and wagged, standing behind LaFlamme’s legs, and pawing at him. Spaulding reached out for her pet, and he hid behind LaFlamme, running around Brett's ankles. 

“Hell, even the dog knows they belong together,” Hotch commented from behind. Reid wondered where he had been hiding, and how he had crept up so quietly. 

‘Hotch in stealth mode,’ Reid mused to himself. Aaron held up Spencer's tie. 

“Thanks,” Hotch murmured.

“Welcome,” Reid replied, reaching out for the tie. “Sure you don’t want to keep it for the return flight?” 

“Fuck you,” Hotch muttered crossly. “I’m driving back. 

Reid barked out a loud, unexpected laugh. Aaron smiled at the wonderful sound.


	25. Show and Tell

25 - Show and Tell

 

“Tell us what we’re looking at, Reid,” Dr. Lind requested as Hotch, Torg, JJ, and she gathered around the monitor. “You’ve spent four days doing passes around that lake. We’d better have something to show for it.” 

“I believe we have located several prime anomalies which merit further investigation,” Reid chimed happily, pressing the mouse and waiting. “What you’re watching is a time lapse compilation of all the data that we were able to gather. Each layer of data was super-imposed over the next, starting with the surface snow and oblique light, next the FLIR readings, and finally, the readings from the ground-penetrating radar.

“So far, it looks like a wildlife documentary,” Torg smiled as the body-heat images of a herd of deer darted off-screen at a high rate of speed. 

“This location here is the control section, the St. Mary’s Catholic Cemetery,” Reid said, pointing a slim finger to the left of the screen as a wash of oblong boxes began to appear, laid out east to west, in the delicate rows of a tiny graveyard.

“Okay, I get that. But I doubt our guy took the time to purchase coffins for his victims,” JJ grumbled. 

“What the hell was that?” Torg interrupted, fumbling for the mouse and knocking it off the table. 

“What? What?” Lind asked. Reid retrieved the mouse, and Hotch grinned brightly. 

“Go back,” Torg said. Reid clicked through the frames one at a time. “There!” Torg exclaimed. 

“Good eyes,” Hotch said. 

“That’s it!” Torg shouted. “Those are bodies!” 

“Yes and no,” Reid replied, freezing the screen. 

“Oblong shapes the size of humans, and that’s not a cemetery, is it?” Torg asked. “It’s not on the map.” 

“Those are buried human bodies, but it’s a cemetery plot on private land. We have checked it out already, with the permission of the current land owners. Those are the remains of a long-dead family who was buried centuries ago. But, as Hotch said, good eyes. That’s precisely the type of anomaly we’re looking for,” Reid said, setting the time-lapse in motion once more. 

“What’s going on?” Lind asked as the colors shifted. 

“The loop is repeating. We have passed down below the surface again. 10 centimeters. 20 centimeters. 30 centimeters. 40 centimeters. Here,” Reid paused the footage once more. “There used to be a home here, do you see? The rectangular outline of stones, and the smaller rectangle which would indicate a hearth? A barn over here? The door to the barn? It would have been in this space between the two rock walls.” 

“Archeologically-interesting, but not what we’re looking for, Dr. Reid,” Lind chided gently. 

“If FLIR hones in on body heat, how is that going to help find dead people?” JJ asked. “They aren’t giving off body heat.” 

“All objects give off a heat signature, even inanimate objects,” Hotch explained. “Some from radiant heat they produce themselves, and others from heat absorbed from their environment.” 

“But these women are dead and underground. How are we going to see their heat signature, animate or inanimate?” JJ persisted. “They aren’t radiating heat if they’re dead, and they’re not absorbing heat if they’re underground.” 

“The ground penetrating radar will pick up the objects that FLIR cannot read. Foreign objects which differ from the surrounding, native, organic elements will register in different colors on the radar,” Reid explained. “Dead bodies will show because the bones and clothing will give off a different reading than the soil and rocks around them or over them.”

“If you say so,” JJ sneered. 

“Why would I mislead you on the topic?” Reid asked simply. She ignored him. 

“They might not necessarily be stretched out full-length,” Lind postulated. “He could be burying them curled up.” 

“Hacked up as well,” Hotch nodded. 

“What if he burned them? Or dumped them in the lake?” Torg wondered. 

“Here,” Reid said, pausing the frame again. The others dipped closer to the screen. Spencer had a hard time getting the frame that he wanted. He went back and forth several times before stopping finally, and hitting the button to make the time-lapse run at half-time. 

Orange-yellow blobs went past in the blink of an eye, close in formation, laid out in a tiny clearing near to the lake itself. 

“Go back,” Lind ordered. Reid tapped the mouse, moving frame by frame. The blobs froze on screen. “Could it be another family plot?” she postulated. 

“We think so as well, given the close proximity to the cabin,” Hotch nodded. 

“Have you contacted the land owner?” Lind asked. 

“We’re attempting to track them down now,” Hotch assured her. “Some of these plots are vacation homes for people who live out of state.” 

“There are four other similar formations like this, here, here, here, and there,” Reid said, touching the still frame at the locations around the lake itself. 

“Is this enough to get a search warrant?” JJ wondered. 

“Each anomaly is in a different jurisdiction around the lake. The local police departments are headed to each location, waiting for permission. We’ve got them decked out with ground penetrating radar to be used onsite if permission is granted. They won’t have to dig up anything except the snow,” Hotch promised. “We should know soon if we have permission to do onsite investigations.” 

“Why not get a search warrant? Why be so polite?” JJ asked. 

“You draw more flies with honey than vinegar,” Lind replied. 

“What if they refuse permission?” JJ retorted. 

“Then we’ll know that they merit further investigation, and then we will ask for a search warrant,” Lind agreed.

“I don’t understand all the pussy-footing around,” JJ shook her head. 

“Oh!” Reid exclaimed. He backed up the footage on the screen.

“What?” Hotch asked. 

“Another farmstead. Sorry,” he apologized. “Here in this cove.” 

“Take note and we’ll tell the history department at the University. Speaking of which, do we have an update on the sociology professor?” Hotch asked Torg as he turned off the computer time-lapse and turned on the lights in the small office. 

“Leo Flannery, of the Portland Kent-Flannery family. Not to be confused with the rest of the riffraff Flannery who might be around the area,” Torg recalled the details. “He’s highly-intelligent and highly-acclaimed in his field. He’s a Kent on his mother’s side. He wanted to be sure I knew this. ‘I’m a Kent on my mother’s side’. He told me several times. Let’s be honest. He comes from a long line of Kents on both sides, as far as I can tell.” 

Reid smiled to acknowledge the subtle word play. The others would catch up eventually to what Torg was driving at. Maybe. 

“What is his specialty?” Lind asked. 

“He has doctorates in sociology, psychology, and zoology, all from Harvard. He’s like you, Reid, only he’s gone Dark Side.” 

“How so?” Spencer wondered. 

“All he's interested in is making a name for himself. He’s currently on sabbatical from the University of Maine, doing primate research in Kyoto. Talking to his fellow professors in Maine, I would say he’s exceptionally brilliant, but he’s his own biggest fan. None of the other professors are particularly fond of the young upstart. However, the kids adore him.” 

“Hence the co-ed groupies Pearlman talked about?” Hotch smiled. 

“If he’s so valuable in his field of study, why is he in Japan?” Lind asked. 

“Ding!” Torg grinned, raising one finger. “Exactly the question I asked.”

“What did they tell you?” Lind wondered. 

“When this opportunity presented itself, the head of the department thought it was a great chance for Leo.”

“How so?”

“They’re hoping the Kyoto Institute likes him so much that they’ll keep him?” Reid speculated. 

“Ding!” Torg repeated. 

“We need to talk to this guy face-to-face if possible,” Lind said. “Find out why his co-workers so dislike him.” 

“Can we afford tickets to Japan?” Hotch wondered. 

“Why don’t we get Garcia to set up a video conference call between Flannery and ourselves?” Lind suggested instead. “I’d like to know more about the circumstances of his connection to Cadet Shaw. Torg, I’ll leave him in your capable hands. Continue to coordinate with Pearlman. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Torg agreed. 

“How are the local departments coming along with their investigations?” Hotch asked of JJ and Lind both. Dr. Lind heaved a sigh, and JJ shook her head. 

“They’re coming along nicely,” Lind answered. 

“Why is that a bad thing?” Hotch wondered. 

“No one is standing out from the pack, thus far. We’re helping run federal background checks on everyone. Garcia said she’d get back to me on them today,” Lind promised. 

There was a knock on the office door. Janeen was there, with a somber young woman in tow behind. Hotch opened the door for her, and they both came in. 

“Ms. Harmony needs to speak with someone about the case,” Janeen said simply. Everyone turned their attention to the other person. She had long blonde hair and doe-brown eyes, and a timid smile. Hotch judged her to be in her mid-thirties. As she moved into the room, her long earrings jingled like small wind chimes. 

“Where is Joy?” Ms. Harmony asked. “Glory wants to speak to her.”


	26. Ms. Harmony

26 - Ms. Harmony

 

“I need to speak to Joy. It’s very urgent.” 

“Who are you again?” Hotch asked, closing the door to the adjacent office and motioning for the young woman to have a seat at the table. Instead, she paced back and forth at the far end of the room. 

“There’s no time to waste, Agent Hotchner,” she scolded. 

“Sit down. Start talking. Tell me who you are,” Hotch repeated. Ms. Harmony stopped in her tracks and pointed towards the door. 

“Let me talk to Dr. Reid. He’ll listen to reason. He knows where Joy is. Glory wants me to relay a message to her sister.” 

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at here, but until you tell me who you are and what you want, and what your connection is to our investigation…”

“I’m Megan Tremblay’s spiritual advisor.” 

“Megan Tremblay?” Hotch repeated, nodding, frowning angrily. “Maybe you’d like to spiritually advise her that when two federal agents drive all the way down to the Maine Correctional Facility in Windham in the middle of the night to talk to her, that she shouldn’t change her damned mind at the last minute and decide she doesn’t want to talk to us.” 

“Megan is frightened, and rightfully so.”

“Spiritual advisor?” Hotch murmured, drawing out the words. “Glory wants to talk to Joy. I’m assuming you aren’t in physical contact with Glory Lovelace, so that would lead me to believe you’re in contact with her incorporeal essence. Are you a psychic, Ms. Harmony?” 

“I am a spiritual advisor,” Ms. Harmony replied, her brown eyes narrowing. 

“I’m not unfamiliar with how this ploy works. What’s in it for you? Do you make money from the families with missing loved ones? Do they pay you to use your amazing powers to track down the runaways and the dead?” 

“No, Agent Hotchner. I do not take money from anyone for what I can do. That wouldn’t be right. I use this gift to help people.” 

“What are you after? Fortune? Fame? Limelight? A book deal?” 

“Peace of mind.”

“In what sense?” Hotch asked. 

“Well for one thing, Glory Lovelace will stop waking me up at night.”

Admittedly, Hotch’s brows went northward at this comment. 

“You try very hard to pretend you don’t believe a word I’m saying, but I can see right through you,” Ms. Harmony continued. “You’ve had your own experiences with the supernatural. You’ve been recently touched, and not for the first time in your life. No. You’ve been sensitive to the paranormal since you were a child too, haven’t you? Your grandmother. She was sensitive. She saw it in you too.” 

Hotch put up a hand to stop her. He carefully kept her on track. 

“Don't bullshit me. Let’s stay focused on Megan Tremblay. How did you come to be her spiritual advisor in this matter? Did she contact you?” he asked. 

“I contacted her through work. I could feel her pain, and I could no longer keep silent. I reached out to her, and she opened up a little to me, but not all the way yet.” 

“How is she connected to our case?” 

“I can’t explain, but I feel it’s imperative that someone speaks with her about what happened to her.” 

“Agent Jareau and I drove down to Windham to speak with Megan, and she refused to meet with us. She wouldn’t even come into the visitors’ area. She stood behind the door and told us to go away,” Hotch growled. 

“She’s frightened, sir.” 

“I can help if she talks to me.”

“She’s frightened of you,” Ms. Harmony replied.

“Me personally? Why would she be scared of me?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Ms. Harmony sighed. 

“I thought you were psychic,” Hotch smiled. 

“I’m sensitive to certain forces, certain auras, strong emotions.” 

“Meaning Megan hasn’t told you either, has she?” 

“No. Agent Hotchner, it’s very important that I speak with Joy.” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you talk to Joy. She’s in a delicate emotional state, and I don’t want you upsetting her.” 

“Glory…”

“If you indeed have had communication with the incorporeal essence of Glory Lovelace…”

“You don’t believe me?” 

“Put yourself in my position, Ms. Harmony. Even if I believe you, I can’t take you and a crystal ball, and put you on the witness stand, and ask you to conduct a séance in front of a jury.”

“You need hard proof. Evidence. A body.”

“I do. Even if you can direct me to the exact position where Glory Lovelace is buried. Even if you can bring me her body. I would still need hard evidence to tie her body to the criminal who committed the crime.”

“I can’t give you hard evidence. I can only give you want I feel. It’s up to you to find the evidence.”

“Then you can’t help me. And I’d appreciate it very much if you didn’t broadcast that you’ve been communing with the spirits of our missing women.” 

“Why not?” 

“At this point, they are officially missing. Letting people at large know that we suspect they are dead, that puts a different spin on the investigation.”

“In what way?” 

“Acknowledging that we believe they are dead would make this an open serial homicide case. The serial killer who committed these homicides remains at large. Potential witnesses tend to be less than eager to discuss details if they think they might be in danger from a killer on the loose.”

“I understand,” Ms. Harmony agreed sadly. 

“If you want to help, you’ll talk to Megan, and you’ll convince her to talk to us about what she thinks she might have to offer.” 

“I’ll talk to Megan right away,” Ms. Harmony promised. “Can I please talk to Joy?” 

“No. I’m sorry. Like I said, she’s in a delicate state, and…”

“Glory wants to tell her she’s sorry,” Ms. Harmony pressed.

“I’m sure Joy understands that.” 

“Glory is worried Joy will be mad,” the young woman whispered.

“Mad about what?”

“She took her sweater.” 

Hotch sat back in his seat.

“What?” 

“Glory is wearing Joy’s sweater.” 

Hotch gave Ms. Harmony a startled look as the hair on his neck stood up.


	27. Joy and Harmony

27 - Joy and Harmony

 

“Joy Lovelace. Ms. Harmony.” 

Hotch made a quick introduction and sat down next to Ms. Harmony. He dropped his eyes into the breakfast menu. Joy stared skeptically at the young woman across the table from her, and then gave Reid a pleading look. Had he been party to this charade? Clearly not. Reid needled Hotch with a searching glance, as surprised as Joy was at this turn of events. When his searching glance failed to attract Aaron’s attention, Reid booted his boss in the foot. Hotch’s head rose from his menu. 

“What sounds good?” Hotch asked. “Why don’t we give you two ladies some space to talk in?” he added, picking up his menu and bouncing over to the next squeaky red booth. Reid didn’t move. He turned around on the bench and gave the back of Hotch’s head a good, long study. Hotch turned his head sideways, and studied Reid’s annoyed expression. 

“I don’t know where to begin,” Ms. Harmony said. 

“Why don’t you stop bullshitting everyone, and tell me what you really want, why you’re really here?” Joy ground out the words. 

“Glory said you’d be this way at first.” 

“No. You stop right now. I’m warning you. This is bullshit. Don’t you dare sit there, and lie to my face, and tell you you’re suddenly BFFs with my sister. Okay? I swear to God, I will put a fork in your eye,” Joy growled venomously. Ms. Harmony blinked at her in fright. Reid reached over Joy’s plate and retrieved the napkin bundle which contained her silverware. He put it far across the table out of her reach.

“Reid,” Hotch murmured. “Come sit with me.” 

Spencer picked up every napkin bundle in reach as he slid away from the first booth and into the second booth with Hotch. He gave Hotch a moody frown, and Hotch opened his menu for him. 

“How about pancakes?” Aaron suggested happily. 

“Glory doesn’t want you to be mad at her,” Ms. Harmony said in a tentative voice. 

“I was mad at first, but I’m not mad anymore.”

“She took your sweater.” 

“I know she took my sweater. How do you know? What sweater is it?” 

“You bought it at Kohl’s. It’s a black sweater with white scrollwork. She likes the way it looks with her black leggings. She borrowed your earrings too. The pearl ones? They were your mom’s earrings.” 

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Joy exclaimed loudly. She covered her mouth with both hands. Reid stood up from the booth. Hotch reached out an arm and caught him around the waist, setting him back down. Reluctantly, Spencer obeyed, not quietly though. This time, he gave Hotch several kicks in the shin for his troubles, which Aaron endured with small grunts of displeasure. 

“Do you know where Glory is?” Joy whispered.

“No,” Ms. Harmony sighed forlornly. 

“I thought you were psychic.” 

“I can only tell you what Glory can tell me. She doesn’t know where she is, honey. I so wish I could help you find her. I really do.” 

“She’s… she’s really…. Oh God…. She’s really….” 

“Dead? Yes.”

“Oh God,” Joy mouthed as the tears started. Ms. Harmony reached across the table and took her hand. 

“Oh, honey. It’s okay. Being dead is not as bad as all that. It’s peaceful for some. It’s peaceful for Glory, except she’s worried about you. Glory is so glad you’re here, and she’s glad you found Josie. She knows you’re going to make it all better again. The way you always made everything all better when you were little.” 

Joy whimpered quietly and put her head down on her arms. Spencer started to get up again, but Hotch reached across the table, took him by both arms, and held him gently down in his spot. Reid’s chin quivered as he frowned angrily at Hotch. He kicked him in the shins again. 

“Glory is sorry that you fought. She's sorry for the things she said to you. You’re right. Pete’s an asshole. She feels really bad about taking your sweater too,” Ms. Harmony whispered. 

“Did she see him?” Joy asked in a muffled voice. 

“Yes, she saw Pete.” 

“Not Pete! Did Glory see the man who killed her?” Joy demanded, lifting her head and wiping off her face. She fumbled around with the napkin dispenser, pulling several free in a fluttery arc of white which landed all over their table. Ms. Harmony helped collect the loosened napkins, and stacked them neatly. 

“She didn’t get a good look at his face. It was night. She had the hood up. The light in the parking lot was bouncing off the car hood. She didn’t get a good look at him in his truck either. It didn’t have a dome light.” 

“Anything at all?” Joy pressed. 

“He told her he was good with cars, and that he could take a look at hers for her. He was being so nice. Helpful. He wasn’t scary, not at first.” 

“Was he young? Was he old? Was he…”

“Who is Foster?” Ms. Harmony asked. 

“Foster?” Joy peeped.

“He reminded her of Foster.” 

“He’s one of the professors at Georgetown,” Joy laughed. “He asked Glory out a couple times. She went with him to a movie once. He was nice, but she wasn’t attracted to him. He’s old enough to be our dad. Foster adores Glory, but the feeling isn't mutual. They’re friends. He’s a nice guy.” 

“He reminded her of Foster,” Ms. Harmony said. “She wants you to get this guy.” 

“We’re trying,” Joy insisted. 

“No. It’s really important.” 

“Why?” 

“She’s not alone.”

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s others. There’s more. Wherever Glory is, she is not alone.”

“How do you know?” 

“She’s lying on top of someone else,” Ms. Harmony whispered. “There’s a leg poking her in the back. It’s really uncomfortable. She’s scared he’s going to kill again. She’s really scared he’ll put someone on top of her next, and then you’ll never find her.” 

Reid and Hotch quietly exchanged a glance, and Reid’s brow furrowed with concern. 

“We need to go over that ground radar footage again,” Hotch whispered to Reid.

“Mm hm,” Reid whispered back. 

“What’ll you have this morning, agents?” the waitress asked as she hurried over to Hotch and Reid’s table. 

“Pancakes, two eggs, scrambled,” Aaron replied. 

“Pain perdu,” Reid responded, staring at Hotch in a strange way. “French toast and bacon. Lots of bacon,” he murmured. “Building on the theory of a mass grave as opposed to a cluster of singular burial sites….”

“Yes?” Hotch asked as the waitress crept away, giving Reid a funny stare.

“He could not keep a pit open year-round without arousing suspicion,” Reid insisted. 

“Go on.” 

“The smell alone….”

“Yup,” Hotch nodded.

“Unless he had a cover story to explain the pit and the blood evidence and the smell and the…”

“A butcher? Livestock farming?” Hotch suggested. 

“That’s plausible.”

“We’ll check into it.” 

“If there is a pit, which we have no proof, but we do have that footage, so we can scan through it again….”

“A pit makes sense,” Hotch rumbled as he heard Joy and Ms. Harmony giving the waitress their orders. 

"If he’s burying them in the same space…”

“He’s going to run out of space eventually. Maybe there's more than one pit?” 

“Only so many people you can fit one on top of the other, unless it’s a very deep pit.”

“Is there mining in the area?” Hotch asked. 

“The geological subterranean composition around Moosehead Lake is primarily limestone and sandstone with volcanic intrusions.” 

“What about a water well? It could have been on the property for hundreds of years,” Hotch suggested.

“You aren’t going to draw water from a well with dead bodies in it.” 

“No shit. What about an abandoned well?” 

“That is more plausible,” Reid agreed. “Hotch, we should examine Glory Lovelace’s car for trace evidence and fingerprints.” 

“It’s been months, months,” Hotch stressed. 

“Chief Sudbrink has her car in the police impound. It’s been closed since she disappeared. If the unsub stood over her car, touched her tools, the body of the vehicle, the interior of the seats, or the interior of the trunk….” Reid whispered hopefully. 

“Trace evidence. I know. It’s worth a shot. Have we gotten anything back from the state forensics lab about Josie’s cat carrier?” Hotch asked. 

“They promised a report by the end of the day today,” Reid replied. “But we need to examine Glory’s car too.”

“I agree. It’s a long shot, but it’s got to be done.” 

Hotch’s cell phone bleated for his attention. Joy jumped anxiously, and Ms. Harmony gave her a soothing pat on the hand. Reid sipped from the cup of coffee that the waitress slid onto the table as Hotch answered the call. 

“Agent Hotchner.” 

“Boss? We’ve got a situation. Can you come back to the station?” 

Reid could hear Karl Torgeson’s anxious voice across the table. Hotch had the volume on his phone jacked up as far as it would go. 

“What kind of situation?” Hotch asked. 

“We got a tip about the Jackson guy. JJ dragged him in for questioning. She’s interrogating him right now.”

“I’m on my way,” Hotch said, standing up. 

“Can we get this to go?” Reid whispered to the waitress as Hotch pulled on his coat in a whirl of movement that nearly sent two plates of food flying. 

“So sorry. So sorry,” Hotch whispered. “Torg? Calm down. I’m two blocks away, and I’m walking right out the door.”

Hotch was adjusting his coat as he hurried along the sidewalk in the direction of the Greenville Police Station. Reid smiled apologetically to the waitress, who steadied the plates, sighed, and made a face at him. 

“I’ll put them in go-boxes,” she replied, heading back behind the counter. 

“Thank you,” Reid gushed, digging for his wallet. He stopped next to Joy and Ms. Harmony. “I hate to leave you in a lurch this way.” 

“I’m all right. We’re all right. We’re going to talk for a while,” Joy said, her wet face shining in the bright light. 

“We’re going to talk,” Ms. Harmony nodded.

“I’ll be okay, Dr. Reid,” Joy promised. 

“I hope to go see Megan this afternoon. Come with me, won’t you?” Ms. Harmony begged Joy. Lovelace looked to Reid, who pondered the question, but finally nodded. 

“Meeting you might persuade Miss Tremblay to cooperate. If she understands that her testimony might impact the search for your sister? Putting a human face on the case will help. Yes. I agree. You should go. Thank you,” Reid said as the waitress stuffed to foam boxes into his hands. He gave her money for the bill and the tip. 

“I feel that Megan has much to tell us,” Ms. Harmony said dreamily. 

“I have to go,” Reid pointed for the door. 

“We’ll be fine,” Joy promised. 

“Play nice. Don’t poke anyone with your silverware,” Reid chided her on the way out of the diner.


	28. Jared Jackson

28 - Jared Jackson

 

“Mr. Jackson, you’ve got about two minutes to start talking before I’m on the phone, getting myself a warrant for your office, your house, your car, your home computer, your office computer, and your phone.” 

Jareau’s voice got brittle and mean as she leaned over the table and got directly into Jared Jackson’s face. He looked far younger than his thirty-five years. He had blond-brown hair and green eyes, a youthful face, and a thin frame. His jacket lapels were wrinkled, as if someone had been grasping him by his clothes and shaking him. 

“I’m not talking. I want my lawyer. That’s all I have to say to you,” Jackson responded, straightening his jacket front. 

Hotch was standing next to Chief Sudbrink when Reid stumbled into the police station, carrying two take-out boxes and his satchel. All eyes not glued to the exchange taking place in the small interrogation room turned to land on Reid. He understood that the delicious smells wafting from the boxes he was carrying were making many a tummy growl.

JJ slapped a folder down on the table between herself and Jackson, and dramatically flipped open the cover. 

“You were having quite a time in Colorado, weren’t you, Mr. Jackson? Indecent exposure. Indecent acts with a minor. Transporting a minor across state lines for the purpose of sexual misconduct. Sexual misconduct with a minor. Lewd and lascivious behavior with a minor. Do I need to go on?” JJ demanded. 

Sudbrink was swelling up with fury where he stood, his face turning red, his eyes narrowing to dark, hateful apertures in his stony face. He heaved himself one step forward. Dr. Lind stopped him. 

“Chief, if you wring his neck, you’ll be in the cell next to him,” she reminded Sudbrink cautiously.

“If that pervert touched my daughter, I will kill him,” Jack breathed hot anger like a seething dragon. 

Hotch motioned with a head tilt for Reid to hurry over. Aaron snatched the boxes away from Reid, and Spencer cleared his throat, hoping to distract Chief Sudbrink.

“Chief, I wonder if we could…” Reid began. Sudbrink turned slowly sideways and gave Reid an annoyed stare. Reid decided to cut right to the point. “Although I cannot speak towards the transgressions that Agent Jareau has listed in Mr. Jackson’s file, what I can say is this: unequivocally, Mr. Jackson is not your unsub. He is not originally from this area. He drives a Toyota Corolla. Given the fact that he is sexually attracted to teenage girls, and the missing women are all in their twenties, and we believe the crimes are sexually motivated, this pervert is not your unsub.”

“I’m not leaving until I question him about Jenny,” Sudbrink growled. “1 in 4 girls,” he added, shaking his head. 

“If he is unwilling to speak with Agent Jareau, he will be even less willing to speak with you,” Reid said. 

“He’ll talk to me,” Sudbrink breathed, his face clouding with fury. “He’ll talk or I’ll kill him with my bare hands.” 

“Chief….” Reid put out a hand to stop him, but Jack Sudbrink burst into the interrogation room and yanked Jared Jackson out of his chair. Janeen raced past all the federal officers and followed Sudbrink into the small room, where JJ was standing there with her mouth hanging open. Sudbrink had the kicking, screaming suspect pushed against the wall, and he was holding him by the throat. 

“Did you sleep with Jenny? Answer me!” Sudbrink snarled thunderously. 

“Jack!” Janeen intervened. “Put him down! You can’t do this! Jack!”

Sudbrink slowly lowered the young man back to the ground, and released the grip on his throat. Janeen got between them as Jackson collapsed to his knees and wheezed loudly in an effort to breathe. 

“You get out of here, now,” Janeen whispered to Sudbrink. “Jack, I mean it.”

The chief heaved himself past the astonished federal officers. His face was black with rage. He stomped into his office, and slammed the door hard enough that dust shook from every corner of the police station. Janeen followed him, knocking on the door and waiting. She turned the handle and went inside, closing the door again behind. 

“I’m not talking,” Jackson gasped, sitting back down in his chair and huddling up. “I want my lawyer.” 

“Let’s talk about Colorado first,” JJ started again. 

“Lawyer,” Jackson whispered hoarsely. 

“Colorado.”

“Jareau, get him his phone call,” Hotch called from the doorway. 

“But…” JJ protested. 

“Get him his phone call,” Hotch repeated firmly. JJ picked up the folder off the table with a dramatic flip and snatch, and marched out of the room, giving Hotch the dirtiest stare on the way past. Hotch waited until she was out of earshot, and turned to give the young man a steady, slow perusal filled with bitter distaste. 

“Mr. Jackson, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, and I’m about to give you the best advice of your miserable life. You’re going to get your phone call. You’re going to talk to your lawyer. But after that, you’re going to answer every question put to you by these investigators. You’re going to answer fully and truthfully, no matter the consequences.”

“I’m not talking to anybody,” Jackson hissed. “I know my rights.”

“Mr. Jackson, this is a federal serial murder investigation, and right at this moment, as far as Chief Sudbrink is concerned, you're his number one suspect.” 

“Murder? Serial? What? I don't have anything to do with that!” Jackson shouted. 

“I’m sure you don't. These women are much too old for you. That’s why I’m advising you to cooperate fully with the murder investigation. Because clamming up now and refusing to answer questions is going to make you look guilty as hell, and it’s liable to get you a one-way ticket to the electric chair.” 

“I NEVER KILLED ANYBODY!” Jackson shouted fearfully. 

“I believe you. Call your lawyer. Talk to him. He’ll tell you the same thing I’m telling you right now. Cooperate with the questions. Answer fully and truthfully. You don’t want to put yourself into the mix as a suspect for these murders. It’s a hole you’ll never climb out of. I don’t want to waste precious time and resources on a lowlife child molester, while my serial psychopath murderer is on the loose. Am I making myself clear, Mr. Jackson?”

Jared rubbed his bruised throat, gave Hotch a terrified stare, and slowly nodded. Hotch stepped back to the doorway as JJ marched back through. She tossed a phone down on the table in front of Jared Jackson, and stood there with her arms crossed, waiting. 

“Make your damned call,” she frowned at him. 

“JJ, I need to talk to you,” Hotch said as he left the room. He waited outside. The day deputy Stevens stood at the doorway and kept an eye on Jackson as the suspect made his phone call. JJ was seething angrily. She could barely contain her fury. She followed behind Hotch, pausing only long enough to give Reid and Torg a hateful look before tracing Hotch’s steps into the coffee room. Aaron shooed a couple soldiers in camo jackets out of the room and closed the door with a thump. 

Reid stared down at the food containers which Hotch had set on the nearest desk when he had gone into the box to talk to Jared Jackson. Spencer sighed softly and sadly, and picked up the containers, making his way towards the small office next door where Pearlman was standing vigil next to the white board with the case details. Torg followed Reid, hot on his heels. 

“Did I do the right thing, calling Hotch? JJ is so pissed at me,” Torg worried. Reid set the food containers down, and sat up on the table top, stretching out his left leg, then his right leg, and gazing at the board as he nodded hello to Pearlman. 

“You did the right thing, Torg. What precipitated bringing Mr. Jackson in for questioning?” Reid asked.

“We got a tip from a high school student that she and Mr. Jackson have been having sex. Her mother called the hotline, made the girl tell us what had been happening. It was an anonymous tip, so we don’t know who the initial girl is. But once word got out that Mr. Jackson was involved with one of his students, several other girls have come forward with nearly the same story. Dr. Lind did a national background search on Jared Jackson, found out he had a police record. All the charges in Colorado came up. What I want to know is why the school didn’t do a background check before hiring this guy?” Torg exclaimed. Dr. Lind entered the small office and paced back and forth at the far end of the room. 

“The type of background check performed when hiring an employee can vary extensively from school district to school district. Some will do a state check and leave it at that. Some will do a regional check with states close by. It’s not very often they will spend the money to do a national background check. Frankly it depends on the size and the financial resources of the district and the outward trustworthiness of the individual. I’m guessing they took one look at the charming and friendly Mr. Jackson, did a state check, and called it a day. It’s a small school system, and they were probably delighted to have someone with a spectacular education and who is young enough to relate to the kids,” Dr. Lind proposed. 

“Hmph,” Pearlman interjected carefully. “He’s relating pretty well to them, by the sound of it. Why is he not in custody in Colorado?" 

"Because his victim's family refused to press charges. They didn't want their daughter to have to go through a trial. It happens more often than we can admit," Dr. Lind lamented. 

“As deplorable as Mr. Jackson's perverted propensities are, JJ should have known that Jackson was in no way connected to the murder investigation,” Reid replied. He cast a glance at Dr. Lind, who raised a brow at him. “You would have decided this, surely, given your years of experience, ma’am.” 

“I know he isn’t our guy,” Lind acknowledged. "I told her not to bring him in, but to forward the information to the FBI's Sexual Crimes department." 

“Chief Sudbrink’s angry outburst and physical man-handling of the suspect may jeopardize any investigation into any misdeeds Mr. Jackson may have committed against the teens under his purview at the high school,” Reid lamented. 

“Let’s hope not,” Torg gulped. 

“Dr. Reid, I told Agent Jareau to contact the appropriate department. I did not realize she would disregard my suggestion,” Dr. Lind answered softly. “I thought she had gone out to get some food. I was on the phone with the police chief in Skowhegan, running down a lead there, when Agent Jareau burst through the front door of the station, dragging this guy by the front of his coat.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have called Hotch,” Torg fretted unsurely. 

“On the contrary, you did the correct thing by calling Hotch,” Reid soothed.

“Do you think Sudbrink will kill the guy, if he molested Jenny?” Pearlman asked. 

“Wouldn’t you?” Torg asked. 

Back out in the station house squad room, Janeen left Sudbrink’s office and headed for her desk near the front entrance. She was drying her face, taking dabs of black mascara off with each touch. Reid watched her, noted the damp spots on her shoulder, and gave a faint sigh as well as a slight smile. 

“More than likely, if there is a case against Mr. Jackson, Chief Sudbrink will be required to recuse himself because of personal connections. Any investigation would have to be conducted by a different officer, one of his deputies? Perhaps by a neighboring jurisdiction? Perhaps by state officials?” Reid said. 

“Did you have any luck contacting Flannery?” Dr. Lind asked Torg. The younger agent shook his head no. 

“Garcia tried to set up a video link, but the professor wasn’t available. Apparently he’s in the field with the primates, and due to the delicate nature of his study, he’s refusing to come back to civilization until the study draws to a close.” 

“When will that be?” 

“Six weeks,” Torg snorted. 

“Wonderful,” Dr. Lind frowned. 

“Short of flying to Japan and putting on a chimp suit, I don’t think we’re going to get this guy’s attention,” Torg said. “Unless you have any other suggestions.”

“Do you have any friends from when you were stationed there, when you were in the Navy?” Reid asked. 

“What kind of friends?” Torg almost smiled. 

“Someone with pull that we could harness?” 

“I got friends,” Torg nodded. “I don’t know how much pull they have though.” 

“Pity. If we could convince someone to pull the funding for his study, Flannery would have no choice but to leave his remote location and return to human civilization long enough to answer a couple fundamental questions about our case. We could tell him it was all a misunderstanding, ask him to answer a couple questions, restore his funding, and send him back to his primates.”

“Or, you could read his doctoral thesis,” Dr. Lind smiled, digging around in her briefcase. She withdrew a thin, black, bound book, and tossed it onto the table. “Not that I don’t think pulling his funding wouldn’t be both amusing and emotionally-satisfying, but let’s try a low key approach first.” 

“Have you read it?” Reid asked, picking up the book.

“As much as I could stomach,” Lind responded. 

“ ‘Mate selection among female human primates dependent upon socio-economic background’,” Reid read the cover and gave Lind a dubious glance. 

“It’s official. He’s a dickhead,” Pearlman announced. 

“He was dressing up as different social classes, entering each environment, and conducting research on how he should behave in order to attract a female mate of that social class?” Torg asked. "His doctoral thesis is a guide on picking up chicks?" 

“Yes, that’s the long and short of it,” Lind nodded. 

“Maybe we should leave him in the jungle with the chimps?” Torg suggested. Reid smiled. 

“Yeah, maybe one of the big silverbacks will make him his bitch,” Pearlman added viciously. 

“Unfortunately it’s not that kind of chimp study,” Reid interjected. 

“Uh oh,” Torg whispered, turning around to watch as the coffee room door opened with a bang. JJ stormed out. She was red as a beet and heaving for breath. She stomped past the first desk, and grabbed her coat. She fought to push her arms into it one at a time. As she was turning around, Torg flinched back from the windows of the small office. He tucked in his bottom lip and stared at the floor. Reid looked back over one shoulder and caught the stare JJ was needling Torg with. It was not friendly at all. 

“You did the right thing, Torgeson,” Reid whispered to him. The younger agent did not look so easily convinced. JJ went over to the Greenville day deputy.

“I need you to take me to the police impound lot,” she ground out the words from between clenched teeth. 

“Now?” Stevens peeped.

“Now,” JJ growled. 

“What about him?” Stevens asked, motioning to Jackson. 

“Hotch said to leave him with the others,” JJ sneered. Stevens glanced towards Reid and Torg and Lind. 

“Okay. Come on. I’ll drive you over,” Stevens agreed. JJ headed for the door and pushed her way outside, without another backwards glance. 

“I’m dead,” Torg bleated fearfully. 

Reid climbed off the table and patted Karl on the shoulder. 

“You did the right thing.”

“That’s not much consolation,” Torg answered. 

“Let’s go sit on Mr. Jackson until they decide what to do with him,” Reid suggested.


	29. Play Fetch

29 - Play Fetch

 

It was early afternoon before Joy came back to the Greenville Police Department. Reid was in a tiny cubicle room, letting his eyes roam over the footage from the aerial surveillance. Chief Sudbrink was in the small interrogation room with both of his deputies. The door was closed, and the mood was somber. Janeen was at her desk in the front. Torg was answering hotline phones, as were the soldiers from the airbase, and an odd regional police officer or two.

Joy bounced into the squad room, waved quickly to Janeen, and scanned around until her eyes landed on Reid. She blew quickly past everyone else, including Hotch, who was coming out of the office with the white board. Pearlman blinked at Joy in surprise. Lovelace knocked on the door of Reid’s room, and waited. Hotch watched her, narrowing his eyes. Her anxiety was palpable. He glanced towards the front entrance. There was an ancient, flat-nosed VW minivan waiting with its engine running. He could see Ms. Harmony at the wheel of the beige and white vehicle, her blonde hair crushed under a wooly hat and earmuffs. 

Reid pulled himself up and came over to the door. Joy bounced inside his room, and slammed the door again. She moved back and forth, arms and hands flailing as she recounted a quick tale to Spencer. Hotch watched Reid’s reaction, brows rising, eyes widening, and then, there it was. That spark of excitement, that keen glimmer of anticipation – it glanced through Reid’s eyes and his face. Joy was waving a tempting stick in front of him, and Reid was aflutter with the desire to play fetch. He shut off the playback of the ground surveillance, grabbed his cane, his satchel, and his coat. 

Joy burst back out of the room and raced past Hotch without a word. Fortunately, Aaron got in Reid’s path before he was able to follow Joy. Lovelace raced back out of the police station and sprinted for the VW minivan. 

“Whoa,” Hotch said, holding up a hand as Reid struggled into his coat, and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“It appears that Megan Tremblay survived an attack by our unsub,” Reid announced. 

“How do you know?” 

“I’m going to Windham to speak with her.” 

“Reid,” Hotch cautioned.

“I know how reluctant you would be to take the witness testimony of a known felon, and I understand why, but if Miss Tremblay has information that may lead to the capture of our unsub, why would we not listen to what she has to say?” Reid demanded. 

“She agreed to talk to us?” Hotch asked.

“Joy and Ms. Harmony convinced her to talk to me.” 

“How do you know Megan Tremblay isn’t playing them both, and hopes to play you as well?” 

“To what end?” Reid asked. 

“Whatever end she can manage. A reduced sentence? A year’s supply of cigarettes? I don’t know. She’s got no reason to help us unless there’s something in it for her.” 

“Hotch, do you want me to question her or not? Yes or no? You decide,” Reid said, standing up straight and giving Hotch the most imploring look. Hotch breathed in and breathed out, and rubbed his forehead. Reid could sense the denial that was coming, and he let flow a string of words as long as a frog’s tongue. “Hotch, if Megan Tremblay has seen our killer face to face, and lived to tell the tale, we should at least be willing to listen to what she has to say, regardless of her criminal background. You don’t think I would be able to tell if she’s blowing smoke up my ass? How many years of interrogations have I been through, most of them spent watching you work with suspects and witnesses alike? You don’t trust me to be able to read Tremblay?”

“You’re going to need a female officer with you during the questioning,” Hotch sighed.

“Ms. Harmony will do.” 

“She’s a goddamn charlatan.” 

“She’s a spiritual advisor. She is also an officer with the Maine Department of Corrections. You didn’t think before to ask to see her credentials?” Reid teased softly. 

“Corrections officer?” Hotch blanched.

“You didn’t ask her, did you?” 

“Credentials??” Hotch scoffed. “I was afraid she’d whip out a rabbit’s foot and a pentagram. Look at her!! How was I supposed to know what her day job is?” 

“Hotch, don’t be a dick,” Reid smiled sideways. “Do I have your permission to go to Windham and question Megan Tremblay?” 

“Dr. Reid, you have been limited to desk duty,” Hotch reminded him. Spencer swelled with annoyance, and he barely kept his tongue in check. He bit his mouth closed and glared at Hotch. There was a quiet chuckle behind them. Hotch spun around to see Dr. Lind wiping a smile of her face.

“Ma’am?” Reid pleaded.

“Dr. Reid, I will give you special dispensation, considering the circumstances. Go to Windham. Talk to Miss Tremblay. Record the interrogation. But for God’s sake, don’t start another prison riot,” Dr. Lind replied.

“Thank you, ma’am!” Reid blurted before he hobbled for the door at a rapid pace. Joy rushed back to the front entrance and dragged him towards the VW minivan. She hustled him around to the front passenger seat, opened the door, and shoved him abruptly inside. Joy jumped into the rear of the vehicle, and Ms. Harmony hit the gas. There was a plume of smoke, and the ancient craft rumbled away. A ‘For Sale’ sign was dancing around in the back window. 

“I figured that would be the kind of vehicle she would have,” Dr. Lind murmured to Hotch. Aaron snickered softly, shook his head, and stared at the floor. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. Better than fine. I have never seen him so excited! This case has sparked him to life again. Agent Hotchner, you better keep a good grip on him. I’ve got seven job openings to fill, and he would do fine in any one of them,” she added, patting Hotch on the shoulder and returning to the coffee room, where she had been lurking when Joy had burst in less than four minutes previously.


	30. Megan Tremblay

30 - Megan Tremblay

 

Megan Tremblay was waiting in the dimly-lit interrogation room when the door opened. She was fumbling nervously with the edge of one fingernail, chewing, biting, and clawing. Her dark brown eyes lifted as the knob turned. A familiar face came through first – willowy blonde hair and a tender smile. Tremblay relaxed visibly.

“It’s you,” Megan sighed, allowing a small smile. Ms. Harmony sat down at the table and squeezed Megan’s hand. 

“I have brought the doctor,” Ms. Harmony said. Tremblay watched Reid enter the room, leaning on his cane, carrying an overstuffed satchel with him. He fumbled for the empty chair and sat down, wincing, squirming for a moment. 

“Hi,” he murmured, hanging his cane on the back of the chair. “I’m Dr. Reid. Spencer Reid. FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Megan reached out and took that hand that Reid was extending. She touched it only nominally before letting go again. As she had reached forward, her sleeve had pulled up her arm. Reid noted the healed cut marks not only at her wrist, but also along the topside of her forearm. But what truly caught his eye were the stab scars in the underside of her forearm, and the cuts on her hands. There were also healed track mark scars in the crooks of her elbows. Reid heaved his satchel up on the table, and poured out most of the contents. He hunted for a blank notepad as pens, paperclips, dust motes, two stuffed moose toys, a keychain, and several breath mints tumbled across the table and scattered on the floor. Reid watched blandly as the disaster unfolded. 

Megan pushed most of the flotsam and jetsam back at him. As she did so, she raised her left hand out of her lap. Reid’s eyes went wide when he saw the thick, wide, two-inch scar which went through and through her left palm. The crippled hand moved slowly. Reid decided she must have suffered nerve damage to the extremity. 

“Thanks,” Reid sighed again, digging in a side pocket. He retrieved a bottle of aspirin, tossed one into his mouth, and gulped it down. “Sorry. Bumpy ride.” 

“Yeah, Maine in winter. What a slice of paradise. Roads like a washboard,” Megan nodded. “I miss California. The sun. The beaches. The water.” 

Reid nodded in reply. Megan gathered more things which had fallen to the floor around her, setting them on the table, and pushing them towards Reid. Her hands brushed one of the small brown moose toys. A smile twitched on Reid’s mouth. He left the contents of his bag spread out on the table between them, organizing the little bits and pieces into small stacks. 

“Ms. Harmony tells me you want to talk?” Reid murmured. “About our case? The missing women?” 

“I don’t know if I should get involved,” Megan started, stopped, and took a deep breath. She hung her head, and her dark brown hair floated down along her cheekbones on either side. As her DOC jumpsuit collar pulled back, the jagged scar that ran round the circumference of her neck came into view. 

“Take your time. Whenever you’re ready. I do want you to be aware, Miss Tremblay, that behind the mirror is a camera, and we are recording your testimony,” Reid said. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you’re here?” 

“Here?” Megan echoed. 

“What are you in for?” 

“Five to seven with good behavior. I’ve already served most of my sentence. I can’t decide what crime I’ll have to commit next to stay longer. How much time do you think they would give me if I killed you?”

The expression on Reid’s face went from unreadable to amused and back again. 

“Megan,” Ms. Harmony chided. “He’s here to help. Be nice.” 

“Armed robbery?” Reid asked, selecting one of his files and opening it. Megan’s mugshot was clipped to the first page. In the photo, the jagged scar on her throat was like a red collar, livid and sore and angry. There was no denying the haunted, self-medicated glaze to her fiery, raw eyes. Megan couldn’t look at the picture. She turned away, stared at the far wall as Reid scanned the pages of her file. 

“We don’t need to talk about that. That’s not why we’re here,” Ms. Harmony protested. Reid continued on. 

“Miss Tremblay, you burst into a Sip-N-Bite in Farmington, Maine. You locked the door behind yourself. You grabbed a bottle of tequila off the shelf, and you broke it over the counter. You pointed the broken bottle at the clerk and told her to call the police. You waited at the counter as the clerk dialed 911. Then you unlocked the door, and pushed the clerk outside. You waited inside the Sip-N-Bite for the police to arrive. You unlocked the door to allow the police inside. You were arrested without incident. You took no money, and did not destroy any other merchandise beyond the tequila. You actually left money on the counter to pay for the bottle you had broken. While you waited for the police, you straightened the items on the countertop. You pled guilty to armed robbery. Your first serious offense. Your court-appointed attorney barely took time to read your specifics before allowing you to plead guilty, be sentenced, and start serving your term.”

Reid paused, because Megan was nodding quietly along. 

“Yes,” she said simply. 

Reid cocked his head to one side. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong. You wanted to be arrested?” 

“Yes,” Megan sniveled. 

“Why?” Reid wondered. Megan’s right hand went to her throat, and her gaze fell on the table. A faint smile twitched on the right side of her face, while the left half stayed immobile. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid to leave the house. I saw him everywhere I went. He was out there. Goddamn it, he’s still out there. What if he figures out I was alive?” she stammered. Her hand at her throat trembled. 

“It’s okay, Megan. He’s not going to find you,” Ms. Harmony promised. 

“I knew what I had to do. He couldn’t get me in here,” Megan murmured. 

“I can’t fault your logic,” Reid admitted, closing the file once more and stuffing it into his satchel. “What can you tell me about him?”

Megan shook her head, using her right hand fingers to claw and paw at the thick scar in the palm of her left hand. Her gaze did not leave the tabletop. As she fought away the memories, her face took on a miserable, lost expression, seeming to sag downward as she lowered her chin towards her chest. Ms. Harmony whimpered softly, touched her fingertips to her forehead, and backed away from the table. She stood, stumbling awkwardly for the door. 

“Stop….” she begged softly. “Stop… Stop….”

Ms. Harmony made it out of the door of the room, but only barely before she collapsed to the floor on her knees. Joy appeared in a heartbeat, helping her to her feet, drawing her into the room beyond and closing the door again. Another DOC officer came to the door of the interrogation room and peered inside. 

“Ma’am,” Reid called out. “Regulations stipulate that a female officer or agent must be present when a female inmate is being questioned. Would you please stay?" 

The officer came into the room, closed the door, and stood against the wall. Her stony face was impassive and unfeeling, her emotions as tightly sealed as her stark and clean uniform. Reid watched Megan’s left hand as she turned it over, palm up, rubbing the scar in the middle again. He motioned to her hand, but was very careful not to touch her. 

“He impaled your hand to keep you from moving. It was a hunting blade with a curved tip, serrated edge. But he did not use a blade on your throat. That wound was inflicted from behind, with a wire, thin and sharp, or perhaps fishing line? He wrapped it around your throat several times.”

Megan nodded. 

“How did you survive?” 

“I played dead,” Megan sniveled. “Maybe I was dead. Who knows? Maybe I am dead, and you're an illusion, and this is Hell.”

“He thought you were dead, or he would have never left you. He’s been too careful to leave survivors.”

“Maybe I was dead,” Megan echoed. 

“How did you meet him?” Reid asked. 

Megan took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Tell me everything you can remember,” Reid soothed. He picked up a pen, smoothed down the sheet of paper on the notepad under his hand, and made sure to stare at the yellow, lined tablet, not directly at Megan’s haunted eyes. 

“I was camping with some friends out near Sebec Lakes, near Peaks-Kenny. It was getting late. I wanted to get back home, but they had decided that they wanted to stay another night. I didn’t want to stay. I decided to head back on my own.” 

“You hitchhiked?” 

“It wasn’t far. Not far at all.” 

“What kind of weather was it?” 

“Nice for October. Chilly, but not cold. You could smell leaves burning. Autumn in the air.”

“What did you have with you? A purse? A bag?”

“A backpack,” Megan answered. 

“Were there a lot of cars on the road that night?” 

“Not really. A couple of lost tourists. There was a car with Kansas plates that went by three times. Mouths gaping like fish,” Megan laughed unsteadily, nearly choking as she gasped for breath. 

“He came along?”

“A truck slowed down. He asked me if I needed a ride, and I said yeah. He asked me how far I was going, and I said Dover-Foxcroft. It was a twenty minute drive, tops. I figured if he dropped me at the gas station, I could walk home from there.” 

“What was the truck like?” 

“It smelled funny.” 

“What did it smell like?” 

“Motor oil.” 

Reid stopped, and lifted his head. 

“Do you remember what kind of truck it was?” 

“An old farm truck. Those round fenders, you know? It was getting dark, and it was hard to see, but I remember thinking it was miracle a truck that old was running. I opened the door. I got in the truck. He seemed harmless. He had a kind voice. He was nice to me.”

“What kind of seats were in the truck?” Reid asked. 

“The floorboards were covered with cardboard, and receipts, and fast food papers. It shuffled as I put my feet down. The seats were covered with a big blanket. It was soft. But it smelled funny.”

“Motor oil?” Reid asked. 

“You know what I mean?” Megan asked. “It smelled like Daddy’s truck.” 

Reid kept writing as he spoke. “He drove. You chatted. He was friendly. What did you talk about?” 

“The usual. Where are you from? Do you have any family? You know, now that I’ve had time to think about it, some of the things he asked, he was scoping me out, trying to see if anyone would miss me if I disappeared. It’s obvious now, but you never think that when someone asks those kinds of questions. He was making small talk, but he wasn’t. I never thought he was up to no good with the things he was asking.” 

“What about the windshield?” Reid wondered. Megan’s brows rose. “Was it clean or dirty? Did it have any cracks in it?”

“It was dirty. There were fingerprints, and a foot print,” Megan said. “It was getting foggy. The defroster didn’t work. These prints appeared on the windshield and on my window. Right where a dog nose-print might be. It squeaked.” 

“The truck squeaked?” 

Megan bounced up and down in her seat.

“The truck seats squeaked as you were driving?” Reid asked. 

“Yes,” Megan nodded emphatically. She laughed softly before the mournful look returned. “It reminded me of when I was little, and I would ride around with Daddy when he was going around to the farms, looking for work.” 

“This man, he reminded you of your father? Was he an older man?”

“Not too old. 40-ish?” 

“Your father was a farmer? Did the man look like your dad? Did he dress like your dad?” Reid asked. 

“My dad repaired farm machinery. This guy, he had big hands, and he smelled like motor oil.”

“You’re in the truck, and you’re riding to Dover-Foxcroft. The seat is squeaking. The night is falling. You can smell burning leaves, and autumn in the air. You are watching the passenger window, and you see the fingerprints appearing in the fog because the defroster on the truck was broken.” 

“Yeah,” Megan whispered. Her fingers trailed along the table, and she picked up one of the soft moose dolls. She drew it into her grip, smoothed over its fur, and fingered its exaggerated, felt antlers.

“He was in the dark, and there were no lights in the cab. It was an old farm truck with round fenders. You got to the gas station where you wanted to get out. What happened?” Reid asked. 

“He paused for the stoplight, and I reached for the handle. But I couldn’t get the door open. He was like ‘Aw, damn. Hold on a second’, and he climbed out of his side of the truck and went around the back. Next thing I know, he’s at my door, but instead of opening the door, he takes the handle off and throws it in the bed of the truck.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I freaked. I scooted across the seat to get out on the driver’s side, but he was back there in an instant. That’s when I felt the knife.” 

Reid stopped writing. Instead, he watched Megan’s hands running over the small moose—frantic motions which were winding the tiny animal around itself. He was concerned that its head might pop off. Megan’s voice was cutting out again. 

“It’s like a movie. You don’t think it’s real. You don’t think he’s seriously going to hurt you. You don’t believe it. You tell yourself you shouldn't make a scene. You don’t want to get him in trouble. But he had the knife, right there.”

“Right where?” Reid asked. Megan looked skyward, and pointed timidly to her lap. Reid did not hide his dismayed expression. 

“He pushed me back up in the truck, and told me to act normal, or he’d kill me on the spot. He got back in and kept on driving. I was measuring the odds. Could I open the window and climb out? I would bang my head on the pavement and die right there. Break a leg? Break an arm? Should I shut up and cooperate and do what he says, and maybe he’ll let me go? I was scared. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You kept quiet. You cooperated. He continued driving?” Reid asked. 

“Yes. He waved at a couple drivers. I mean, it was surreal. He was kidnapping me, but he was waving hello to people he passed on the highway. Everyone always says that you should cooperate. Don’t fight, and he’ll let you live. Do what he says, and he’ll let you live. Well, you know what? They’re fucking liars,” Megan sniffed, her voice full of sorrow and accusation. 

“Where did he take you?” 

“I don’t know,” Megan whined. “All these damn roads look the same. This whole goddamn state is one big forest. I don’t know this place, Dr. Reid. It didn’t seem real. It was like a nightmare. Six weeks before, I was in California, at the beach, and a friend of mine said ‘Let’s go see Maine’. And I said sure, because I had never been here, and I needed to get away, you know? Memories of Denise were everywhere." 

“Who is Denise?" 

"My sister. She was killed by a reckless driver while crossing the road to the beach. Some stupid little bitch who couldn't put her fucking phone down and stop texting her BFF LOL. I think they should all be shot in the face." 

"What happened to your friend from California?” 

“She got off the bus in Illinois, and I never saw her again. Denise would have kicked my ass if she knew I’d done something so stupid. But I wanted to get away from California. Too many memories of Denise’s accident.” 

“What can you tell me about the knife?” 

“You guessed right. It was a serrated hunting knife, one of those ones with the crooked edges and the point at the end. I can still feel it. It was cold and wet and sharp. He kept stabbing at me, and yelling religious shit.”

“What kind of religious shit?” Reid questioned.

“ ‘Mary, I love you’. I’ll never forget it, not as long as I live,” Megan sobbed. “Every time he stabbed me. ‘Mary, I love you’. Or 'Mary, I'm sorry'.”

“Was he wearing a cross? Was he wearing a priest’s collar?” 

“No, but he took my dream catcher.”

Reid looked up, puzzled. 

“My necklace. Denise got it for me when we went to Santa Fe the year before. The son of a bitch. That was from my sister. He yanked it off my neck and threw it away. He wasn’t making any sense. He was there, but he wasn’t there. He had this weird look in his eyes. Dead. Cold.”

“How did you survive being stabbed?” Reid wondered. Megan laughed through her tears, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. The guard who had been standing by the door bounced forward and offered her a tissue. Megan nodded thanks to her. 

“I was wearing a stomach flattener under my shirt. Very heavy, thick material. Holds your love handles in. It was very slimming. I think since that was so tight, that’s what stopped most of the bleeding, and also the thick material kept the knife from going in too deep.”

“You wore a stomach flattener to go camping?” Reid questioned skeptically. 

“I had a thing for one of the guys we went with. I wanted to look good. I didn't want him to think I was tubby.” 

“You didn’t keep it, did you?” Reid hoped. 

“Who would keep it? Seriously?” Megan asked, her face curling up with disgust. “That’s not normal. The first thing I did when I finally dragged myself out of that hole and back home was burn everything I was wearing, and sit in the shower until the water ran cold. Of course I didn’t keep my clothes.”

“I apologize,” Reid whispered. 

“What kind of sick question is that? That’s fucking mental. Women have emotional ties to certain clothes. We’ll keep a shirt from a middle school boyfriend. A dress we wore to a special dinner. Undies we wore that remind us of a romantic night. No woman would ever keep the clothes she was wearing when she was raped. You’d never put them on again. You’d never wear them again. It would be like putting on dead skin. There’s no way!” Megan exclaimed. 

“I’m so sorry," Reid whispered again. 

“Do we have to go through all this?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry, but we do have to go through this. Megan, look at me?” Reid whispered. Megan’s eyes slowly lifted. “The man who hurt you? He’s never going to hurt you again. When we find him, we’re going to make him answer for what he did to you. But we need your help to catch him. Anything you can tell us. Everything you can tell us. Do you remember where he took you?” 

“It was a cabin in the woods by a lake. Jesus, I know. That’s the whole fucking state. But this place, it smelled awful. It smelled like death,” Megan whispered. “I knew I was dead from the minute he dragged me through the door.”


	31. A Stronger Profile

31 - A Stronger Profile

 

The tape of the interview came to an end, and the screen converted to a blank, solid blue. No one moved. The silence was thick. In the back of the small room, Reid cleared his throat softly and stared down at his loafers. Standing next to him, Aaron Hotchner turned his wide-eyed gaze at Reid. In slow succession, everyone else in the room also turned to stare at the doctor too. No one said a word. Reid hobbled for the front table, turned off the machine, and turned off the TV. In the darkness, he fumbled for words. Dr. Lind reached over and turned on the light switch finally. 

“Our killer is a white male in his mid-40’s, with dark hair and dark eyes. He is stocky but not overweight. He is surprisingly strong. He’s got a friendly voice. He’s not scary until he turns on you. He owns what Megan Tremblay described as an old farm truck. It may not be his primary source of transportation, but he is emotionally attached to it. Your packets contain a few images which approximate the make and model as Miss Tremblay described: rounded fenders, tall cab, and an open bed. GMC? Fargo? Chevy?”

“Oh hell,” Sudbrink whispered to himself as he stared at the pictures. 

“The cabin where he took her is somewhere around Moosehead Lake. Its contents were circa the same era as the truck he was driving – 50’s? 60’s? But no later. The cabin is in disarray. The furniture is old. She remembers the smell of death, and the bathroom most of all. That’s where he raped her. The floor has peeling, yellow linoleum. She thought she saw fingernails marks on the floor. The man stabbed her repeatedly with a serrated hunting knife. He sexually assaulted her. He strangled her with a thin wire, or perhaps fishing line. She played dead to avoid any further mutilation, and the ploy paid off. She was unconscious when he carried her out of the cabin. She does not know where the hole is that he dumped her body. Megan remained underground for approximately six to eight hours. It was daylight when she crawled out of the hole. It was the light that woke her up. She thought it was a guardian angel – her recently-deceased sister, to be precise. The pit she was in, she remembers that there was a ring of bricks near the top, because she scraped her side as she was climbing out. She also remembers there were other bodies there with her.”

“Bricks,” Hotch said from the back of the room. Reid’s eyes moved to him across the sea of horrified faces. “That would bolster the idea of this being a collapsed well?”

“I do believe so, yes,” Reid nodded. 

“We need to get a description of this guy out there,” Sudbrink murmured quietly. He shuffled the pages in his folder and retrieved the artist’s sketch. He held it up, stared at it, and gave Hotch a piercing examination which made Aaron’s flesh crawl. “Hope you’ve got an alibi,” Jack murmured to Hotch, who nodded in reply.

“Jesus Christ,” Torg whispered. “No wonder Megan Tremblay freaked out when she saw you, Boss. You look like this guy. Or this guy looks like you.” 

“I have given one of these packets to Michael Charbonneau, albeit with a limited amount of details concerning the actual attack that Megan Tremblay suffered. He will be printing a story in the morning edition, revealing that we have discovered a surviving victim, and we will be relying on her testimony in order to capture the perpetrator,” Reid timidly interjected. 

“Was it a good idea to tell Charbonneau so much?” Sudbrink wondered. The other police chiefs nodded in agreement. 

“What if the killer gets scared and runs?” one of them called out.

“We’ve called in additional federal agents and state troopers, and posted them at airports, bus stations, train terminals, and along the highways at given points,” Hotch interjected. “If he makes a run for it, we’ll be able to spot him.” 

“He’s not going to flee,” Dr. Lind predicted. “That would draw too much attention. No. Our guy will stay put, and do his best to stay calm. He’s going to think you’re bluffing about the surviving victim. He’s been careful so far, but now he'll have to get closer to the investigation in order to see for himself.”

“We’re hoping so,” Reid replied.

"Have we heard back on the cabins with subsurface anomalies from the aerial search around Moosehead Lake?" LaFlamme asked. 

"All checked out. No leads there. Each was a family plot confirmed by historical public records," Torg replied. "We are reviewing the footage for mass graves this time around." 

“We have the forensics reports back from the state office, both from Josie’s cat carrier, and from the interior and exterior of Glory Lovelace’s 2001 Acura Integra. The soft-sided carrier yielded an abundance of cat hairs, as you might expect, also blood, feces and urine, and vegetation from the field where it was tossed. There were fibers on the underside which matched the car interior, and woolen fibers from a cream or ecru blanket with green stripes,” Dr. Lind said. 

“How do you know it’s striped?” Sudbrink asked with a small laugh. 

“Many of the fibers are described as having ecru tips and green ends.”

“What’s the thing about ‘Mary, I'm sorry’?” LaFlamme called out. 

“That is one of the details that we’ve kept out of the press,” Reid answered. “We have our technical analyst working that angle even as we speak. The killer kept saying this over and over to Miss Tremblay. It’s possible that he’s referring to Mary, the Mother of Jesus. It’s also possible he’s referring to a different Mary. A family member? A friend? We don't know.” 

It was impossible to miss the look that crossed Sudbrink’s face. His two deputies turned and looked at him for guidance, both equally as disturbed. 

“Guys, don’t get me wrong,” Lieutenant Bonifant spoke up. “I’m not saying that this is utter bullshit. I do understand that every working theory involves necessary guesswork. But how the hell can this guy tell these things about women? How does he know that some anonymous woman hitch-hiking by the side of the road has been sexually-abused? How does he know she’s emotional and vulnerable?” 

“He engaged in conversation with them to determine if they had close family. It's possible he has had previous experience with vulnerable women. If they had close family, someone who would notice their absence, he did nothing to them. But if he determined they were alone, and vulnerable, and would not be missed, that is what sealed their fate,” Hotch replied. 

“Why didn’t Megan Tremblay go to the police? Wouldn’t she have required medical attention?” LaFlamme asked. 

“She was living with a friend who works at the Mayo Regional clinic in Dover-Foxcroft. Megan agreed to let that friend give her medical care, but only with the promise that her attack would go unreported. Megan was too afraid to go to the police,” Reid replied. 

“Were there any usable prints from the forensics reports?” the Skowhegan police chief asked. 

“Agent Jareau recovered a number of finger and palm prints on Glory Lovelace’s car, particularly in the region of the front of the surface of the hood, and on the back on the trunk, where you would grab it to close it,” Dr. Lind reported. “We’re running them through the systems now—state, regional, military, and national. Let’s hope we get a hit.”


	32. The Roads That We Follow

32 - The Roads That We Follow

 

“Are you sure about this, Doc?” Joy asked, putting down the paper and staring at Reid. “Telling Charbonneau all these details?” 

“If our theory is correct that the unsub is a member of the local community, he’s going to be reading the paper. Seeing that many details about his crimes spilled out for everyone to read, we hope it will spur him to want to come closer to the investigation, find out what else we know about him.”

Reid was sitting at the small desk in the guest room at the Francis house. Joy was sitting on the end of the bed. Josie was pressed against Joy’s side, purring softly. Joy petted Josie gently and absently. The cat's eyes dimmed sleepily as Joy's fingers moved through her fur. Reid thought about Goody at home, about the pet sitter who would be checking on him every day to make sure he was fed and cared for. Spencer was suddenly feeling very guilty about leaving Goody alone at home. 

“Why don’t you let me ride around in Chief Sudbrink’s car with him for a while? Fake the guy out?” Joy asked. 

“I do not like that plan.” 

“Why? I look enough like Glory that if this guy sees me, it’ll freak him out. He'll think I'm his surviving victim." 

“You assume you have not already encountered him in the time that you have been here in town. I believe he may already have met you. Such a ruse as you described might work in fiction, but it will not fool someone in real life. Besides that, I do not wish to risk your safety. If he believes the ruse, and thinks you survived the first time he tried to kill you, seeing you might spur him to make sure the second time around.” 

“I would know a killer if I saw one. And it's not like I've been parading around Maple Street all day, every day,” Joy defended. 

“Where have you been?”

“With the Francis family by night. With you by day.” 

“You went down to Windham again with Ms. Harmony. How is she?” 

“Ms. Harmony is shaken by the vision she had about Megan's killer. She wanted to check on Megan though. I went because I wanted to thank Megan for talking to you. I took her some cookies too,” Joy whispered. 

“Where else have you been?” Reid smiled. 

“I talked to the old guy at the towing company, and then to the guy at the police impound lot, about giving me Glory’s car back,” she admitted softly. “Guess you found out about that.”

“The chief told me, yes,” Reid nodded slowly. "You were verbally abusive with the impound manager." 

“The tow company guy wouldn’t even admit that he had towed Glory’s car. All he could give me was a vague maybe, that she kinda seemed familiar. The guy at the police impound lot refused to let me even see her car. I was pissed.”

“Her car is evidence in the investigation. He cannot release it to you.” 

“What about her stuff?” 

“Is this about that sweater?” 

“What?” Joy blushed. 

“You want to see if the sweater is in the suitcase that we found in the trunk.”

“If my black and white sweater is in the suitcase in the trunk, then Ms. Harmony is blowing smoke up my butt, and she hasn’t spoken to Glory at all. But if my sweater is not in the suitcase, that means wherever Glory is, she’s wearing my sweater, and Ms. Harmony has spoken with her.” 

“One does not necessarily prove the other,” Reid pointed out tenderly. 

“How else would she know about the sweater?” 

“There was a picture in the paper, one that Michael Charbonneau pulled from Glory’s online blog. She is wearing your sweater, and your pearl earrings. It is possible that Ms. Harmony saw that picture.” 

“You’re skeptical of her abilities? You don't believe in psychics?”

“My beliefs one way or the other do not verify her claims. Will it make you feel better to know one way or the other if the sweater in question is in Glory’s suitcase or not?”

“Yes.” 

“Very well. I will get a list of the contents of the suitcase. But you must promise me you will not attempt to interfere in the case in any way. Hotch will make me send you home if you interfere again."

"He's the one who sent you over to talk to me, isn't he?" 

"Yes," Reid admitted. 

“I promise not to interfere.” 

“I will get the list for you.” 

“I gotta tell you. Between the crappy weather and the serial killers, I am not so impressed with Maine,” Joy frowned, staring out the window at the falling snow. 

“It’s quite lovely here, besides all that,” Reid defended. “It’s peaceful compared to DC. The trees are calming, don’t you think? I like how the snow sits on their limbs. The way the trees sway in the wind. The way the wind is muffled by the snow and the trees. The flakes shake loose and fall again. It's very peaceful. Even the ice is nice, the way it makes everything shine anew in the light.”

“I guess there are things to appreciate about everywhere you’ve been,” Joy murmured. “You’ve been all over the country working cases, haven’t you? Do you ever get homesick? For your real home, I mean?” 

“Sometimes,” Reid admitted softly. “Are you thinking about your home in DC?” 

“I’m not homesick, if that’s what you’re asking. My apartment is a third story walk-up in an old building in Chinatown. I’m lucky to have windows,” Joy chuckled softly. “It always smells like chicken and cabbage. It's $1500 a month, and it's a pit. I won’t be able to afford to stay there much longer unless I get a roommate. Besides that, it isn’t home without Glory there too.” 

“They have a very nice pre-med program at the University of Maine, if you are planning an extended stay here,” Reid continued carefully. 

“Until we find Glory….” Joy let the sentence trail off. 

“And then?” Reid asked softly. 

“And then, I don’t know,” Joy answered truthfully. 

“Would Glory want you to give up your college courses and your future? I know you must have worked very hard to support yourselves, and that you have gone into deep debt to be able to afford college for the both of you.”

“Yeah,” Joy nodded. “I’ll be paying off student loans until I’m seventy.” 

“You should not throw away your future. Glory wouldn’t want you to stop living your life.” 

"We were going to go into practice together," Joy sniffled. "Together. It's not the same without her." 

"The world will not stop and allow you time to grieve. You have to keep on living your life." 

“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. I talked about this with Ms. Harmony on the drive back from Windham. She said that the universe works in mysterious ways. Things happen to us for a reason. Maybe we can’t see the reason. Maybe we aren't meant to know the reason. But there is always a reason. Maybe this is what was supposed to happen all along. What happened to Glory was meant to happen. Maybe me coming here, it was meant to happen. The roads that we follow – there’s a reason we have to be at a certain place at a certain time. We have to be there. We were meant to be there. I think, I think maybe, I think I know why Glory came here,” Joy stammered unsurely. 

“Why?” Reid asked. 

“I was lying in bed last night, thinking about when we were kids. We came through Maine once when we were little. Very little. Maybe Sherrie and Carrie size? The trees were huge, and full of color, and we heard wolves howling in the night. Mom had to come for a conference, and we came with her. Dad couldn’t come because of work. He didn’t want Mom to bring us either. You know, now that I think about that, he was angry and jealous, but he was scared too. He was scared she was leaving him and taking us away.”

“He may well have been. Your mother brought you to Maine? Did she have connections here? Do you remember where you visited?” 

“No. I might have pictures on my computer at home. It was so long ago, but I wondered last night if Glory came here because she remembered that trip. Does that make sense?” 

“Glory could have been seeking comfort in the past memories,” Reid agreed. 

“By the way, Ms. Harmony wanted me to ask you about your mom.” 

“Why?” Reid asked, tilting his head and keeping his face impassive. 

“She had a sense there was something going on with you and your mom. Tension? Friction?” Joy began. Reid frowned at her. There was a knock on the door. Connie Francis was there, smiling faintly as she stood in the hallway. 

“The Chief is waiting downstairs for you two,” Connie said to Reid and Joy. 

"Thanks!" Joy replied, bouncing up. 

"Honey, I was thinking," Connie said to Joy. 

"About what?" Joy asked. 

"I heard you say Glory might have come to Maine because your mother brought you here as children. Maybe she came to ask your mother for advice, so to speak. What to do about Pete? How to apologize to you?" Connie suggested. Joy heard the words, and her face became very serious. 

"Do you think so?" Joy wondered. It was nice to have her own thoughts confirmed. Reid noted that Mrs. Francis's opinion carried a good deal of weight with Joy. 

"I know when I was a girl, I'd always go to my mother for advice like that," Connie whispered in reply. "She'd always know what to say too."

"Thanks, Mrs. Francis," Joy smiled again, giving Connie a brief hug before leaving the room. Josie raced to keep up with her, weaving around Mrs. Francis's ankle before rushing after Joy. 

"Thank you for everything you're doing for her," Reid said once Joy had left. Mrs. Francis reached out and put her arm around Reid's shoulders. 

"You're welcome," she murmured, soft and low. "Seeing her flounder breaks my heart. I want to help." 

"You see yourself in Joy?" Reid questioned. Mrs. Francis chuckled softly, patting him shoulder. 

"Hush your mouth. That was a long time ago. Someone reached out a hand to me when I was in need of direction. I'm paying back that favor. There's going to come a time when Joy will see someone in need, and she will reach out and take their hand. That's how the universe works, Dr. Reid. Or at least, that's the way it should work."

"Yes, ma'am," Reid agreed.


	33. Take A Break

33 - Take A Break

 

Dr. Reid was sitting in the Greenville Police Station, in the small office with the white board, his eyes trained on the laptop that Caroline Cummings had borrowed from somewhere around the station and set up for him. She was sitting nearby with her own laptop humming, still cataloguing tips that were coming into the hotline, though they were few and far between. 

“You’ve been staring at that footage for hours. Maybe it’s time for a break?” the staff sergeant murmured. Reid shook himself and stared at her. A smile followed a second later when thoughts registered again. 

“You’re right,” he nodded in agreement. 

“Did anything pan out from the other sites, the places with anomalies?” she asked. 

“No. The local police departments reported back that there was nothing unusual about any of the anomalous burial sites. All were historical, confirmed by public record, and therefore not suspicious.” 

“Sorry.”

“Me too.”

“The rest of your team went home already. Maybe you should too. It’s not like you’re going to solve the case tonight, Doc.” 

Reid said, “You’re right. I have a hard time turning it all off though." He waved a hand backwards beside his right ear, as if to say his thoughts were too loud.

“Pulling yourself out of a case?” she asked.

“Yes. Whether I’m at home or at work, I tend to focus on one thing, and until I solve the problem, or I find the reason, I have a hard time letting go. I can’t shut it off at the end of the day, and walk out the door, and not think about it until the next morning. I can’t.”

“Everyone needs sleep.” 

“I do sleep,” Reid insisted. 

“Your buddy, he stood at the door watching you for the longest time, and you didn’t even look up,” Cummings remarked. 

“Hotch?” Reid asked hopefully. 

“You have his laptop. He was trying to get your attention. He had this puppy-dog look on his face. You didn’t even notice him. He was breaking my heart.”

“How long ago?” 

“About half an hour. You should call it a night, and go check up on him.”

“I thought reviewing the footage might help, but I didn’t learn anything new, except that I need to get my eyes checked again,” Reid sighed. 

“Like I said. It’s time to call it a night. Go get some sleep. Or go down the street, and get a drink. You can’t stay on duty twenty-four-seven and expect to keep performing at the same level of proficiency.”

“You’re right,” Reid whispered, rubbing his tired eyes. “Can I take this with me?” he asked, indicating the laptop. 

“You should take it back to Agent Hotchner,” Cummings suggested. 

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Reid shook himself to alertness. 

The staff sergeant folded the face of the laptop down, and stirred around through the notes on the table as she was pulling the cord free from the wall. Reid helped put the notes back in their color-coded stacks. 

“Go home. Get some sleep,” Caroline said as she bundled up the cord and handed it to Reid separately. He stuffed both the laptop and the cord into his satchel. As Spencer walked out of the office and into the hallway, there was a snuffling at his pant leg. He glanced down and saw Snippet at his feet. To his surprise, it was Ensign James who came walking out of the coffee room, stretching and yawning. 

“Ready to go?” James asked, scratching his side and rolling his neck back and forth. 

“Yeah,” Reid mumbled. He waved goodnight to the few soldiers and LEOs who remained at their desks. “Where’s Mommy?” he asked as Snippet danced around and followed them out the front door and into the cold night air. 

“She’s got a date,” James whispered.

“Really?!” Reid exclaimed happily. Snippet was busy relieving himself on the bushes, smelling his way from the bushes to the car. His nose hardly left the snow-cleared sidewalk. “She and LaFlamme went out for dinner? By themselves?” Reid asked hopefully. 

“No. They’re taking about ten other Maineiacs with them.” 

“That’s not a date,” Reid protested, terribly disappointed. 

“It’s a safety date,” James insisted. 

“What’s that?” 

“When you invite a group of people along, and that special someone you adore, so that person isn’t feeling all pressured, and you’re not feeling all pressured, and you can go and have a good time, and…. You never dated much, did you?” the ensign asked.

“Not as such,” Reid admitted. “So, they’re going to a dinner? Movie?” 

“No. They’re testing out a couple new distress scenarios with the cadets.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a date,” Reid frowned. 

“To each their own,” James shrugged. 

“You’re doggy-sitting?”

“We're hanging out. I’m seeing if I want to get a dog,” James smiled. He opened the door to the rental SUV, and Snippy jumped up inside, dancing around in the passenger seat. “Dude, back seat,” the ensign pointed. Reid opened the rear door. “Not you. Him,” James chuckled. 

“I’m good. He can have the front,” Reid replied. Snippy barked and danced some more. 

Reid was running over case details in his mind as they drove the short distance back to their hotel. As they were pulling up to the front, a small red car zoomed past them, and pulled into the empty spot James had been aiming for. A stocky kid in a red jacket popped out and left his engine running and his door ajar, preventing James from taking the space next to his. Reid had a feeling he had seen that face before somewhere. The ensign narrowed his eyes and watched the youngster pick up a pizza insulator pack, and rush into the front of the hotel. Snippet growled low and deep. 

“Mm. Pizza,” Reid said softly. He pulled out his cell phone, squinted at the sign on top of the small car in order to get their phone number, and stared to dial. “Could you eat?”

“Boy, could I eat!” the ensign confirmed. 

“Are we allowed to feed You-Know-Who pizza?” 

“He had Fruit Loops for breakfast. He had a junior cheeseburger for lunch. I don’t think pizza would do him any harm,” James replied. 

There was a muffled voice from the other end of the phone. Reid placed a quick order, but instead of giving them the address of his own hotel, he gave them the address of the hotel where the rest of the team was staying. James gave him a faint smile, and waited patiently. 

“Twenty minutes. That’s great. We’ll meet you in the lobby,” Reid said, hanging up the call. He wondered why the ensign was waiting. The pizza kid was scurrying back to his small, red car. He pocketed his money, and chucked the insulator bag back into the vehicle. 

“Hey, buddy? You wanna move that piece of shit so I can get out?” the teen called over to Ensign James. Snippet huffed and growled at him, remarking on the nerve of the kid. 

“Can I?” James asked Reid, patting the lump along his ribs where his sidearm was resting. 

“No, you may not,” Reid said. 

“I’ll only shoot his tires. I promise.”

“No.”

“Why not?” 

“Because odds are, he’s the one who is going to be bringing us our dinner in about twenty minutes. He might remember your face, particularly if you shoot his tires out,” Reid smiled. 

The ensign backed up, pulled away from the first hotel, and headed down the road towards the next. As they bounced along Highway Six, Reid was going over case points in his head again, silently repeating the profile to himself as though the specifics were the lines from a prayer. They drove past a catholic church, where a ghostly statue of a saint stood out front, guarding the entrance. The statue was graced on either side by floodlights, and appeared to loom at the cars as they came around the slight turn. 

"Jude the Apostle, patron saint of lost causes,” Reid whispered, unaware he was speaking aloud. The ensign glanced up into the rearview mirror. 

“What’s that?” James asked. 

“Nothing,” Reid called back. 

“That wasn’t Jude. That was Michael the Archangel. He’s the patron saint of law enforcement, and of the Navy too. My mom got me a Saint Michael medal when I went into the service.”

“Is your mom religious?” Reid asked. 

“She was born Catholic. We went to mass with her now and then. I don’t know how to explain it. You may not practice, but the rituals and superstitions never leave your brain,” James smiled. “Getting that medal for me was de rigueur. Like part of the uniform. She also bought me Kevlar.” 

“Your mom bought you body armor?”

“Doc, she’d’ve wrapped me in bubble wrap if she could have,” the younger man grinned. 

“Is she over-protective?” 

“No. She knows how dangerous it is though. She’s got a lot of police officers and Naval officers in the family. Her dad. A couple brothers. Her grandpa. She married a Navy boy too. Twice.” 

“You and your sister are half-siblings?” 

“No. My parents had me, fought like hell, got divorced. A couple years later, they decided they missed each other. They hooked up again, got remarried. Then they had my sister.”

“Are they married yet?” Reid wondered. 

“Yes. But they live apart. Mom’s an architect in New York. She's a city girl. She can't roam more than six blocks from a decent double-latte. She specializes in renovating derelict urban spaces, turning them into community gardens and playgrounds. My dad is a munitions specialist. He’s stationed on the West Coast out of Coronado.”

“Your dad is on active duty?” 

“The Navy is like the Mob. He ain’t never getting out,” James moaned and laughed at the same time. 

“But at his age, shouldn’t he be considering retirement?” Reid questioned. 

“Retirement? He’s only forty-two. He’s younger than Agent Hotchner.” 

Reid blinked at that realization, and smiled a little. “Do you and he talk often?” he wondered. 

“Mostly we email.”

“Why?” Reid worried. 

“CAUSE HE’S IN MUNITIONS!” James exclaimed loudly. Reid recoiled in surprise. “My dad is hard of hearing,” the ensign added in a normal tone. Reid smiled. "He sends me dirty jokes, most of the time. I think that's his idea of father/son bonding. Probably that's what his dad did with him." 

“What about your mom?” Reid asked. 

“Tell you one thing. She was not happy when I went into the Navy. She wasn't happy I was studying engineering. She was even less happy when I got booted out of the Navy. I had to tell her why, and so now she knows all about that too, which I was never ever going to tell her,” the ensign lamented. 

“You don’t think your mother knew you were gay before you told her?” 

“She’s very old school. I don’t think so. Did your mom know about you?”

“My mom knew,” Reid remarked. 'My mom knows everything', he thought to himself. Maybe that was what Spencer found so frustrating and heart-breaking about his mom's current delusion that he was away on a secret mission, or her previous delusion that he was dead. Reid knew that his mother had so much to offer -- a great mind filled with detailed knowledge of centuries of world literature, a clever wit, and a disarming, friendly personality. To have that kind of mind locked away inside itself, wandering through delusion after delusion, it was above all other things, grossly unfair. There were evil, dangerous, sickening monsters allowed to walk around the world unimpeded, while someone who had so much to offer the world had no outlet through which to express herself. Diana Reid was walled up inside her own mind, and Spencer couldn't help but think that the part of her brain which remained rational and reasonable was in a room in that internal prison, screaming out in frustration. 

“How old were you were when you figured it out?” James asked. 

“Figured what out?" Reid thought about it. “Oh! That. I never came to a conscious realization that I was bisexual-- there wasn't a bolt from the blue. It was always part of who I was. I never questioned that it was different to be equally attracted to both sexes, any more different than anything else about me. It was merely who I was. Does your mom know what you do for a living?” Reid asked. 

“I told her I work surveillance and security, the details of which are classified. She made such a face, like I had said I was a mall cop or something. You know, I really wonder if she wonders if I wasn't being making it up. It doesn’t matter what I tell her. There’s no pleasing my mom.” 

“But she loves you. She bought you Kevlar.” 

“Just because she’s mad at me about my career choices, that doesn’t mean she wants me getting shot. But no matter what I accomplish, she's always telling me I can do better.”

“You never talk about your family. I assumed you weren’t close.”

The ensign shrugged. “We’re not super close, but we care about each other. We get along better when we’re not all together. A little distance suits us very well. The situation with Joy and Glory – that’s been making me think a lot about my family these last few days. Things are quiet at the moment, but not for long. Mom is going to hit the roof when she finds out Stacy wants to be a nurse.” 

“Your little sister?” 

“Uh huh. She graduates high school in May.”

“Nothing wrong with being a nurse,” Reid replied. 

“I agree. But that won’t be good enough for Mom. Stacy could be a doctor. She could be THE BEST doctor. She could go to the best medical schools in the country. Mom won’t let her settle for being ‘just’ a nurse. That’s how she’ll put it too. ‘Just a nurse’. I agree. Being a nurse hard work. It takes a lot of patience and empathy to care about people, to care for people. Stacy will be a damned fine nurse. But, you know how it is. Parents.” 

“Parents,” Reid agreed with a nod. They were headed into the parking lot of the hotel where the rest of the BAU team was staying. A neon moose head greeted the cars pulling into the circle to let off passengers. 

“You get on inside. I’ll park the car,” Ensign James said as he slowed to enter the circle. A small red car swerved into the line of vehicles, bounced over the sidewalk, barely missed a pine tree, and pulled into the circle ahead of James and Reid’s rental SUV. Reid blinked in astonishment as the same stocky teen popped out of the vehicle, leaving the engine running and the door ajar, and raced into the hotel lobby.

"I don't believe it," Reid snickered. 

“I am gonna shoot him this time. I swear I am,” James growled. Snippet barked at the teen again. 

“Behave. Both of you. See you inside,” Reid murmured, making his way out of the back seat and limping towards the entrance. 

“REID?!” the teen was shouting at the front desk. 

“I’m Dr. Reid,” Spencer responded behind him. The kid spun around, snatched the money that Reid was offering, and deposited two pizza boxes into his hands. Reid set the boxes on the counter. “Keep the rest,” he murmured when the kid started digging for change. “Drive safely,” Reid added tentatively. 

“Whatever, buddy. Enjoy the pizza,” the teen laughed, hurrying away. 

“Save your breath. He's never going to get a ticket. His mother works for the police department,” the hotel clerk whispered to Reid. “Can I help you?” she asked, working up a tired smile. Reid blinked at the red car racing away. Had that been Janeen Morrow’s son? Reid would never have guessed the family connection, because the kid did not resemble Janeen at all. Maybe he took after his father, Reid shrugged to himself. That thought bounced around in his head, and he leaned back for another look at the boy before he vanished. 

“I’m looking for SAIC Aaron Hotchner’s room,” Reid said, showing the clerk his badge. This was the fastest, most direct line to getting what he wanted. He felt guilty for simply flashing a badge and expecting results, but he didn't want to take half an hour explaining the more familial connection between Hotch and himself. 

“Agent Hotchner is in 318, sir. Up the stairs. To the left. But I haven’t seen him come in yet. When you do see him, tell him he’s got two messages to call his wife.” 

“I doubt that very seriously,” Reid rasped. The clerk shrugged and put the messages up on top of the pizza boxes anyway. “Elevator?” Spencer asked hopefully. 

“Sorry, sir. Out of order,” the clerk replied. “Staircase is that way,” she added as she turned to the next customer. Reid gave a resigned sigh and started that direction.


	34. Pizza and A Movie

34 - Pizza and a Movie

 

It was with a heavy heart that Hotch climbed the hotel stairs to his room almost an hour later. He was carrying a half-eaten pizza, and was contemplating having another piece when he got to his room, even though he wasn’t hungry. He was missing Jack, and missing home, and really missing Spencer, who was acting more and more like a complete stranger instead of a spouse. Hotch never thought he would ever turn into one of those emotional eaters, but here he was, stuffing himself physically to fill the emotional void that was gaping inside his chest. He sighed and hiccupped, and patted his churning stomach. Ugh. Heartburn. 

The door on the third floor landing opened ahead of him, and a familiar voice could be heard around the turn of the staircase. The voice was accompanied by the clicking of tiny paws on the stone steps. 

“I can’t believe you gotta pee again, man. During the best part of the movie no less? You can’t hold it for another ten minutes?" 

There was a frantic canine whimper in reply.

"Oh, don’t be upset. You’re a small dog with a tiny bladder. I get that. It’s not your fault. But hurry up. It’s cold out there. Snowing like hell again. You want me to carry you downstairs?”

Ensign James came jogging around the turn with Snippy in his arms. Both the dog and the ensign gaped at Hotch with their mouths open. Aaron was the first to smile. Snippy whimpered and barked hello. His yapping echoed loudly in the stairwell. Instead of the usual doggy-breath, Snippy had the distinct aroma of spicy sausage about him. James put him down, and the whippet ran happy circles around Hotch’s legs, pawing at him anxiously. Hotch bent down and petted his head, near his head, around his head, as Snippy bounced around. Sometimes Hotch envied dogs – they were able to take joy at the smallest of things, like seeing a good friend again. Ensign James was in an entirely different mood though. 

“Where the heck have you been?” James barked at Hotch, arms crossed over his chest. “Dr. Reid is upstairs, moping his heart out, worried you're out there working the case without him cause you don't think he can do the job any longer. Would it kill you to leave your phone turned on so he can call you? Way to be supportive of someone when he's filled with self-doubt, and he's being badgered and harassed by some arrogant snot who wants his job!" 

“I wasn't out working the case,” Hotch interrupted the ensign, skipping up another two steps. 

"Well, wherever you were, you should have been here. He wanted to surprise you, and you weren't here, and he was so disappointed. Not only that, we had to pick your door lock. That took fucking forever. You need to get up there and apologize, pronto. Short Pants and I are going for a walk and a tinkle,” the ensign said, pointing to Snippy. 

“Make it a long walk," Hotch frowned, unhappy to be bawled out in this fashion. 

“We can do that,” the ensign nodded. “The Captain is coming on soon.” James continued on down the steps, but stopped at the next turn. “Hey, by the way, I did use a tape measure, jerk.”

Hotch stood there with his mouth open for a second or two after James had left. He had never seen the ensign so worked up before. Had Reid been confiding in the ensign, or had James read Reid's emotions and guessed the reasons behind his upset? Right now, he was more concerned about Reid than about the hot-tempered ensign. Hotch tucked the pizza box to his side and sprinted for his hotel room. He opened the door as quietly as possible, and snuck inside. The TV was blinking blue and white all around the outer suite. Spencer was stretched over the length of the cushiony divan, wearing Hotch’s pajamas, no doubt snatched off the bed in the adjoining room. Reid was snoring quietly. There were two other pizza boxes sitting on the coffee table in front of the divan, and a gnawed-upon crust was on the carpet on a paper towel, which had also been gnawed on. 

Mysterious music was rumbling from the television. Hotch didn’t recognize the classic thriller that was playing, but thought it might have been a film-noir from the 40’s or 50’s. A handsome guy in a dark suit with a fedora was creeping around a brick alley with his handgun out. 

Hotch crept over to the sofa and slid his pizza box onto the coffee table with the others. He smiled inside and out as he thought about it – he and Reid had both had the same idea at the same time, but it was the execution that hadn’t turned out right. Pizza and a movie, a little time together on a couch or a bed. Hotch reached down and thought about touching Reid's cheek, but stopped short. Spencer's left hand was curled under his face. His hair was damp – his short, sandy-auburn locks were pulled straight on one side from being pressed against the sofa arm, but were curling up on the other side not pressed against the sofa. Reid smelled like Hotch’s shampoo and the scratchy hotel soap. Instead of touching Reid's cheek, Aaron knelt down, and gently picked up one of Reid’s feet, massaging his toes. 

Reid awoke with a puzzled hum. He stretched out his foot, and booted Hotch in the chest with his other foot. Aaron let go, and helped Reid into a seated position, clasping his hand and tugging him upright. Spencer was frowning while rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Where have you been?” Spencer rambled. Hotch bent in for a spicy smooch. 

“At your place,” Hotch answered. “Waiting for you." 

"Do you want pizza?" Reid asked. "Italian sausage? There’s some left. Really? You were at my hotel? Awww,” he sighed, melting inside. 

“Are those my PJs?” Hotch asked, toying with the top button. 

“Maybe,” Reid replied, offering another kiss. 

“I got Hawaiian, your favorite. There’s some left. You want a slice?” Hotch offered, tapping the box on top.

“Maybe later. I’m so stuffed,” Reid protested. Hotch patted Spencer’s rounded belly and gave an approving smile. 

“What am I supposed to sleep in?” Hotch whined. 

“I’ll give you half,” Reid promised.

“Top or bottom?” Hotch rumbled, undoing buttons. Reid’s only reply was big, sly grin. He stood up and walked towards the bedroom suite. He slid out of the bottoms, leaving them on the threshold. Hotch was on his feet and heading for the door as fast as he could. He reached the portal in time to see the pajama top land on the floor. Reid was naked, and he was sliding into Hotch’s bed, and that was the absolute best way Aaron could think for the day to end.

They came together with a slow kiss as Hotch pinned Reid to the bed. Reid had one hand on Hotch’s tie and the other on his belt buckle, and neither one was coming loose fast enough to suit Spencer. Heavy wingtips tumbled to the floor. Hotch’s suit jacket got tossed to the nearby chair. 

“Wait,” Reid panted, patting Aaron’s big chest to make him stop.

“What?” Hotch worried. 

“I need my satchel,” Reid answered. “In the other room.”

"Need it for what?” Hotch rumbled, dropping kisses along one pale shoulder and down Spencer’s neck as Reid scooted to the side of the bed. Reid pulled open the drawer on the side table and pointed to the empty expanse, populated only by the ubiquitous Gideon’s New Testament Bible. The small black book sat in the middle of the otherwise bare drawer, and it stared back at them in stern disapproval. 

Reid grabbed up Hotch’s suit jacket and pulled it over his nakedness. It almost covered his tiny tush – almost. Hotch sat on the bed, enjoying the view as Spencer made his way uneasily towards the outer room. Hotch wondered where Reid's cane was. Reid returned a second later, hugging his satchel to his front. He paused about five feet from the bed, and smiled slowly at Hotch. Aaron patted down his hair, feeling it standing up on end in the back. Reid smiled at him even wider as he got closer. 

“Sometimes I can't believe you're mine, can't believe you married me,” Reid whispered shyly, lifting the flap of the satchel and letting Hotch paw around inside. Aaron came back with a small stuffed moose, and raised a brow at Reid. 

“Because you’ve always had a thing for hairy fat guys?” Hotch wondered, setting the moose aside. 

“You’re not fat,” Spencer soothed. Hotch laughed softly, noting that Reid wasn’t defending against the ‘hairy’ comment. Aaron rooted around in the satchel some more. Spencer reached over and caressed Hotch’s cowlick. Hotch set files aside on the floor with a few pens and a computer mouse. “I brought your laptop back to you. It’s charging on the desk,” Reid said as he pointed towards the small article of furniture in a corner of the outer suite. 

"Where’s the lube?” Hotch asked, unhooking the handle of the satchel from around Reid’s shoulder and dumping the remaining contents out on the bed. 

“Not there?” Reid worried. 

“Maybe it fell out when you dumped your bag at the facility in Windham?” Hotch suggested. 

“Oh, dear,” Reid fretted. “Oh, darn,” he added. 

“Don’t worry. It’s not like anyone could start a prison riot with a tube of lube,” Hotch joked.

“We have to will go out and get some,” Reid decided. He pulled off Hotch’s suit jacket and gave it to him. Hotch packed the contents of Reid’s satchel back together and stuffed everything in again, including the small moose. Hadn't there been two moose dolls in his satchel on the video interview with Megan Tremblay? What had become of the other moose? Reid lingered next to the small dresser in the room.

"What is it?” Hotch asked. 

“Could I borrow some....?”

“Go ahead,” Hotch smiled. Reid opened the top drawer and rifled through Hotch’s clean underwear. He pulled out a pair of boxers, and slid into them, nearly falling flat on his face on the floor. Hotch wondered again where Reid’s cane had gone. Had he seen it in the outer room? He couldn’t remember. The boxers Spencer had borrowed were very loose around the waist, and he had to hold them in place as he went into the bathroom. Reid returned with his suit, which he had hung up on the hangers in the back of the door. Reid slithered into his trousers, wriggled into his teeshirt, and danced in a circle as he put on his dress shirt. Hotch sat on the bed, watching his lover get dressed. To Aaron’s amazement, the spectacle was almost as sexy as watching Spencer get undressed in the first place. ‘This must be love,’ he thought to himself with a smile as Reid pulled on a tie and made a mess of tying the knot. 

“You gonna sit there all night, handsome?” Reid asked, pilfering a clean pair of socks out of Hotch’s drawer too. Aaron could see finally that Reid was not joking about going back out. Hotch reluctantly put his wingtips back on. He got to his feet and stretched broadly as he followed Reid into the outer suite.


	35. Trapped on the Earthly Plane

35 - Trapped on the Earthly Plane

 

Walking through a grocery store at night was the closest thing Hotch could imagine to being a ghost trapped on the earthly plane. Everyone you met was glassy-eyed and exhausted, like the young father gathering diapers and baby formula in aisle four. Their faces are haggard and often abnormally-pale. Witness the stoner teen with the mop of hair in her eyes, carrying three kinds of cookies and a gallon of milk. They’re shuffling along on sleepy limbs and tottering feet with no purpose and no destination, burning time while moving towards eternity, like the grandmother in her pajamas, house robe, and fuzzy flippers, with her hair in curlers, picking up Steak-ums and hoagie rolls, and a stack of Rambo movies from $5 discount DVD bin. 

Hotch lingered by the grocery store bulletin board, letting his eyes travel around the aisles. He was counting the customers as they came and went, taking note of the surveillance mirrors and the video cameras set up around the place. Reid was in Health and Beauty. He speed-read the entire contents of the sexual aid section before his eyes lit upon something interesting. He tossed two or three boxes into his hand basket, and scampered around the turn to the next aisle as quickly as possible. Hotch stifled a grin as Reid found himself facing a veritable wall of feminine hygiene products. He expected Spencer to flee again, and quickly at that. 

Instead, Reid speed-read that aisle as well, lifting a hand to straighten the multi-colored boxes that were at an angle on the shelves. Another customer came into the same aisle, a nervous girl about fifteen. She was horrified when she encountered Reid there. She stood stock-still as she blushed dark red. She kept her eyes on the floor until they were past each other. Reid watched her with unnerving interest as she went by him. The girl glanced into Reid’s basket, gave him a horrified look, and hurried to get away from him. Spencer turned the next corner, and found himself in the razors and shaving cream. He peered back around to watch the girl select a small box from the shelf and tuck it to her chest. The girl spun around to see Reid ducking away again. Rather than walk past Reid at the end of the aisle, she went around the far end. She picked up several odd, random items on her way to the only open register. 

Reid peered up over the top of a display of razors, and continued to study the girl while she was at the check-out. A disconcerted expression came over his face. Hotch wondered what the genius was thinking, what realization had suddenly occurred to him. Spencer shrank back into his own thoughts, his private world. He walked down the next row with little or no interest in the items around him. He turned the corner into aisle four, baby products, and he halted in his steps. He frowned, appalled by his surroundings. He back-tracked, and went completely around. 

Aisle three – pet products. Hotch heard Reid give a squeak of delight. He was shaking every last jingly toy hanging over there, laughing each time. Hotch faced the bulletin board and told himself to be calm, be patient. This was going to take a while. To pass the time, he read the notes posted there. 

Free to good home – assorted kittens (Hotch wondered if Goody would like a sibling.) 

Doberman/Pit Bull puppies for sale (Maybe they could get a dog instead of a second cat.)

Babysitting service (If only they needed a babysitting service, Hotch sighed longingly.)

Pet sitting service (Happy with the one they had.)

Handy man service (How much longer was Reid going to be over there?)

Newsletter carrier routes available (Would Jack like a paper route? Would there be any print newspapers in business when Jack was ready for a job?)

Yoga classes (Good for the body, Hotch thought as he guiltily patted his own tummy.)

Dance classes (Even better for the body, he mused.)

Gorsuch Towing and Car Repair 

Hotch stopped himself, and stared at the last one again. 

Gorsuch Towing and Car Repair. Wide service area. On call 24-hours. Cheap rates. Cash or credit. Foreign or domestic. Call Goose or Matt at…. 

Hotch reached up and fingered the worn sheet of blue paper. There was only one tab left on the bottom. The page was weathered, and had been hanging there for some time. It was a copy of a copy of a copy, he decided, considering the degree of blurring of the tow truck in the picture. 

As Hotch gazed at the page, a warm rush went over his body, like inspiration, like a tingle in his soul. Anyone else might have called it intuition. Ms. Harmony would have said it was a message from beyond. Glory Lovelace had been in this store on her last night on Earth. She had used the ATM that was ten feet away from where Hotch was standing. Her car had been found outside in this very parking lot. If Hotch was remembering the details correctly, this was the very towing company who had been called to take away her abandoned car. That settled things in Aaron's mind. Hotch reached over to the customer service counter to procure a fresh, clean, plastic bag. He delicately unpinned the sheet of paper, and slid it into the bag, and then folded it over, tucking the blue page into his jacket pocket. 

Reid appeared at the far end of the store. His hand basket was filled with pet toys for cats and dogs alike. A flat, fake mallard duck was hanging limply out of the top of the basket, its yellow bill drooping towards the floor. Thin sticks with feathers and bells glued on the end jingled as Spencer strode slowly towards the register. Tucked under his arm was a bag of dog food specifically for smaller breeds. At the very least, they weren’t going to be feeding Snippy pizza crusts and spicy sausage bites, Hotch thought wryly. 

Hotch made his way for the register as well, but Reid had stopped again. Spencer had been hypnotized by the Valentine’s Day display. A multitude of red, heart-shaped boxes were stacked there. A cheesy mobile of red and pink cherubs with crossbows swung around overhead, powered by a battery pack hidden in the central portion of the mobile. The angels and cupids glittered as they spun around. Reid watched the cupids dancing above him, then he glanced up at Hotch. He gave a tender smile, and ducked his head again. 

Spencer balanced the dog food on the floor against one leg, and added several items from the display to his basket, which was now stacked up and over the sides. He precariously lifted the bag of dog food onto one arm, and tottered towards the open register. Without his cane, Reid’s limp was more pronounced. Hotch was waiting, perhaps patiently, perhaps not. Reid stopped halfway there, and tucked the hand basket behind himself. Hotch motioned for him to hurry up. Reid set the dog food bag down again, and waved his long fingers sideways. 

‘Go away’, Reid was signaling. He didn't want Hotch to see what was in his basket. Aaron frowned. Reid signaled more dramatically, and added a ruffled brow. Hotch crossed his arms over his chest and returned his own ruffled brow. This was turning into a battle of wills. Reid’s furrowed brow mutated into a playful but stubborn pout. Hotch had had enough. He started forward to intercept Reid and drag him to the check-out. Reid anticipated the move. He picked up the dog food, and scampered around and around the empty registers to avoid Hotch. He stepped up and over a barrier or two in order to escape Aaron’s attempts at interception. While amused at first, the checker was growing annoyed with their antics. She sighed and filed her nails in the meantime.

Reid slid the over-stuffed hand basket onto the belt of the open register, whirled around, grabbed Hotch by the shoulder and the arm, and marched Aaron back to the bulletin board. He turned Hotch around, and made him face the board. 

“Stay,” Reid whispered in Hotch’s ear. Spencer turned to go back to the register, and Hotch whacked him on the backside. Reid yelped, covered his mouth, and high-stepped out of Hotch’s reach, scampering back to the check-out. Aaron smiled, and watched over one shoulder as Reid waited patiently for the checker to ring up the purchases and bag them. She was taking her time about it, and she wasn’t exactly careful either. She crammed no less than five heart-shaped boxes into a plastic bag that was far too small, and managed to put a hole in the bag with one of the pointy ends of the hearts. Reid went to the end of the bagging area, and bent cautiously down to retrieve a huge paper bag from a lower shelf. He took the boxes out of the plastic bag and meticulously stacked them into the brown paper bag. 

“It’s extra for paper,” the checker said, annoyed that he had redone her half-assed work. 

“Fine,” Reid answered calmly. 

“You’re required to recycle,” she added. “We’re very strict about that here.” 

“I will recycle,” Reid promised, his voice rising. 

The checker slid the other items to Reid one at a time. He stacked them meticulously into the bag. She got to the boxes of lube, and stopped, examining these boxes very closely. She stared at Reid, stared at Hotch, and curled her nose with distaste. She slid the lube towards Reid, and he tucked the tiny boxes into the bag as well. 

“That’ll be $75.89,” the checker announced finally, sending the last item down the belt – a long pink feather toy. Reid picked up the toy, and turned to give Hotch a deliciously-wicked smile. Aaron felt his own face warm at the lurid expression Spencer was wearing. Maybe all those feather toys weren't for Goody after all. Reid put the toy in the bag, and pulled his wallet out of his jacket. He slid a card through the pinpad machine. 

Hotch faced the wall again, swallowing loudly. He could hardly contain himself. Reid jingled his way towards Hotch, carrying the big brown bag and the dog food on one arm as he folded the extensive receipt with his long fingers and tucked it into his jacket pocket. 

“$75? What in the world do you have in there?” Hotch whispered as the glass doors parted. Reid hugged the bag against his chest. 

“Nothing,” Reid replied, handing Hotch the dog food to carry. 

“Give me that,” Hotch sighed. He folded the top of the bag down, held it in one hand, and gave Reid the dog food. Aaron slid his free arm around Reid’s waist and walked him to the SUV.


	36. Roger

36 - Roger

 

“Why are you sitting in the back seat?” Hotch asked for the tenth time, eyes glued to the rear view mirror. Reid tapped him on the shoulder with the pink feather cat toy.

“Keep your eyes on the road, driver,” Reid ordered. “Would you like more chocolate?” he asked.

“I want you, in the front seat, now,” Hotch replied. He fought away visions of pulling over to the side of the road, and joining Reid in the backseat, fogging up all the windows with their joined body heat. The snow was coming down hard, in large flakes that stacked up on the windshield between sweeps from the wipers. In spite of the fact that the heater was churning on high, the windows were fogging over. 

“Open,” Reid whispered, scooting to the edge of his seat, reaching an arm around. He slid a square of chocolate into Hotch’s mouth, caressed his chin, and tickled his earlobe before sitting back in the seat again. 

Hotch chewed the caramel and gazed in the mirror. As they passed under a street light on the edge of Greenville’s city limits, Aaron studied the glow that illuminated Spencer. The wind had reddened his pale cheeks, and his hair had that ‘fresh out of bed’ look to it. Reid had undone his coat in spite of the cold, and his scarf was unevenly distributed around his neck. In short, he looked untidy but artful so – his shirt slightly wrinkled, his tie askew, his collar crooked. He looked positively edible because he was burning brightly inside and out. 

Reid had opened several boxes of valentines. He scribbled on them, stuffed them in the envelopes, and tucked them neatly into a row in the seat next to himself. Hotch glanced back and down, trying to see what Spencer was writing on the envelopes. Eight digits, two slashes. Were they dates? Puzzled, Hotch turned back around, took a quick left at the junction, and started along the two lane road ahead. Reid was humming melodically to himself. Hotch heard faint strains of 'Baby, It's Cold Outside', and the idea of that made him smile. 

“Driver, why don’t we go back to my place?” Spencer suggested softly. 

“I love how you make that sound so dirty,” Hotch laughed. 

“I’m being practical. It might be safer to go to my hotel,” Reid said.

“My bed is softer and bigger.”

“Mine is on the first floor, involves no steps, and has a large bathtub with a shower instead of only a shower stall.”

“Bathtub?” Hotch rumbled, undeniably interested. Now different visions were jumping around his brain – Reid naked and wet in a tub of bubbly water, streams of suds rolling off his body as Hotch lathered his skin. He imagined himself pushing Reid up on all-fours against the side of the tub. 

“A long, hot bath. Lots of bubbles. Maybe even a backrub,” Spencer enticed. It was like he knew what was running through Hotch’s mind!

“You’ll need a backrub when I’m done with you,” Hotch promised with a wicked grin. 

“Do you know what today is?” Reid asked suddenly. 

“It’s February 12th.”

“Did you know that we have been officially married for 40 days?” 

“Have we?!” Hotch exclaimed, amused by the excitement in Reid's voice. 

“968 hours.” 

“And twenty-six minutes,” Hotch added, glancing at his watch. 

“This is very new for me. How are we doing? So far, so good?” Reid asked tentatively. 

“You bet your ass! I make a damned fine husband,” Hotch grinned, reaching back to slide a hand along Reid’s nearest leg. “So do you,” he murmured. He loved the way Spencer squirmed when he touched behind his knee. 

“Driver, you should keep your eyes on the road, and your hands on the wheel,” Reid chided, giving him a light smack on the hand with the feather toy. 

“Oh. Uh oh,” Hotch commented as they came to a halt. Reid looked up. Through the fog and the snow and the cloudy windows, he could make out a green road sign, which indicated that Greenville was now five miles in the wrong other direction. 

“Where are we?” Spencer wondered. 

“I must have taken a wrong turn,” Hotch decided. “Someone keeps distracting me,” Aaron added playfully as he glanced back to the sound of bells. Reid was tracing the very tip of the pink feather along his jawline while nibbling his bottom lip. His usually-innocent eyes were burning with desire. 

“Distracting you? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Reid denied. 

“We could pull over, you know, into one of these long driveways. No one would see us,” Hotch rumbled. His mouth watered at the possibilities. Reid's eyes got wide for a second, and his jaw fell open in surprise. 

“Is there room to safely turn around?” Reid wondered. 

“Turn around?” Hotch asked. “I was thinking more along the lines of getting stuck deep, very deep.” 

“I know what you were thinking,” Reid gave a nervous laugh. “Hotch, we should go back to the hotel. It’s indecent to…you know…do what you were….. Are you crazy? It’s so cold.” 

“Body heat,” Hotch rumbled. Reid gave him a stern frown. There was no arguing with that look. Hotch crumbled. “I’ll see if I can find a long driveway. I don’t want to slide off into the ditch.”

As he sulked internally, Hotch made a left turn, and proceeded forward into the growing fog and the falling snow. Reid put his pen away and watched out the window. 

“This would be beautiful if not for the fear of horrible, frozen death,” Aaron said quietly. Spencer nodded in agreement, and leaned against the back of Hotch’s seat. When he spoke, his voice was right in Hotch’s ear. 

“It is nice. Calming. We should come to Maine more often. Maybe get a place by the lake for a week or so. We could get snowed in. Never leave the cabin,” Spencer whispered, his warm breath tickling Hotch’s cheek.

“Never leave the bed,” Hotch agreed, turning sideways to touch the tip of his nose to the edge of Reid’s jaw. Visions of a bear rug and bare skin danced in his brain now. He imagined Reid on all fours, imagined sliding in and out of him, all the delicious noises Spencer would be making as they moved together. Hotch moaned softly and squirmed in his seat. He couldn't wait to get Reid back to either one of the hotels. 

“Mmm,” Reid hummed shakily. “Good idea.” 

Hotch opened his mouth to a quick kiss, taking a second to glance out the front of the windshield as the steering wheel pitched slightly right instead of forward. 

It was a glance that no doubt saved both their lives. Up ahead, in between the cones of their headlights, a huge figure loomed, blocking most of the two-lane highway. Hotch lurched away from the kiss, hit the brakes, grabbed the wheel with both hands, and made a dramatic turn. The vehicle went into a chaotic spin. Reid was thrown violently towards the other side of the vehicle, but that was the least of their worries. The SUV did a complete 360, and went backwards down the ditch on the far side of the road. The ditch wasn’t much, but it was filled with snow and mud and muck which grabbed the rear tires, and held on. 

When the world came back into focus, Hotch heard his own explicatives echoing back to him. The engine gears were grinding. He pulled his foot off the gas and the brake both, and felt the SUV sliding sideways. He wasn’t sure if they were up or down, because the falling snow and the fog were confusing his brain. Someone behind him was moaning in pain. 

“REID!!” Hotch shouted, unsnapping his seatbelt, throwing open the driver’s door, and pulling open the rear passenger door. The back seat was awash with hearts and cartoon characters, chocolate bon-bons, and heart-shaped boxes. Not to mention cat toys and a flat, fake mallard duck. Reid was hunched down behind the other seat, crammed into the floorboard. He groaned, and blinked in confusion at Hotch. 

“Here, let me help,” Hotch murmured tenderly. Spencer reached for Aaron's outstretched arms. Hotch lifted slowly, mindful that Reid was shaking and unsteady. He drew Spencer out of the vehicle and onto the snowy, icy road, unfolding the tall, thin man like a delicate piece of origami. Reid’s feet touched the ground, and he limped around in a small, confused circle, wincing with each step he took. 

“Did we hit a patch of black ice?” Reid asked numbly. 

“No,” Hotch replied, pointing to the road. 

Reid craned sideways around the foggy door windows, his eyes focused forward. His square jaw was hanging slack, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Through the fog and snow, a shape emerged, illuminated by the car’s unsteady headlights. The towering thing which blocked their path was dark brown and shaggy, with spindly, long legs, a heavy, hairy middle, and a powerful neck and shoulders. Its head was facing away. The animal’s antlers ranged out sideways and backwards from his head. They were covered with a mixture of felt and snowfall. The moose was munching pine needles from an overhead branch which stretched across the highway. The tree trembled with each bite. He continued chewing, not in the least bit concerned for the accident he had caused. 

“Is that….?” Hotch wondered. 

“Alces Americanus,” Reid confirmed. 

Hotch whispered in awe. “I heard they were big. But that thing is HUGE.” 

“The male moose can be seven foot tall, and weigh up to a thousand pounds,” Reid supplied helpfully. 

The nonchalant animal finally took notice of the shocked, shivering humans. The beast breathed out jets of steamy air, and shook his head to throw off the snow that was accumulating in his rack and on his hunched shoulders. Hotch reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture. In the silence of the night, the artificial camera shutter noise was the only sound bouncing around the air muffled by the falling and accumulating snow. Reid looked sideways at Hotch, who sheepishly lowered his phone. 

“Jack will be so excited,” Hotch explained. Reid blinked at him, and stared again at the beast blocking their path. The moose finished staring them. He nosed the delicious branch one last time before he calmly ambled towards the opposite ditch. His hooves were muffled against the snow on the asphalt. He stepped easily across the snow drifts, and disappeared between the trees with a rustle of needles and leaves, and a gigantic backwash of flakes as the limbs disgorged their snowy burdens. Reid watched space where the animal had been. 

Hotch turned back to face their SUV, and his heart sank. It was easy to see from this perspective that the vehicle wasn’t going anywhere else tonight without help. The front left tire was pushed outward at an odd angle. The front left headlight was cracked and wavering. There was steam hissing from the radiator. While they had been careening around, Hotch had managed to spear a large branch, which had punctured the front of the vehicle. Hotch couldn’t figure out how he had managed this, because it was the back of the SUV which was mired down in frozen mud and snow. 

“May I borrow your phone?” Reid asked Hotch, reaching out a hand. Hotch gave him the phone without a second thought. Reid limped back towards the expanse of road behind them. They had apparently gone from one side to the other and around twice. Hotch must have impaled the vehicle on one side, and overcompensated with his responding turn, thus landing them backwards in the opposite ditch. He vaguely remembered seeing white, green, white, and white again out the windshield. Reid was taking pictures of the SUV in the ditch, the tire tracks, and the crushed tree, and the blackened tire scorches which the falling snow was quickly covering from sight. Once finished, Spencer limped back over to Hotch, and gave him his phone. 

“You okay?” he whispered against Hotch’s neck, hugging him briefly. 

“You okay?” Aaron asked in reply. 

“I will be fine.”

“We’d better call someone,” Hotch decided. He went for his phone again, and came back with the folded blue piece of paper wrapped in plastic. Gorsuch Towing and Car Repair. Maybe it had been intuition after all. Without taking off the plastic, Hotch peered through the bag and dialed the number. 

“I better pick things up,” Reid murmured as he headed for the open rear passenger door. Hotch held the phone to his ear, hands trembling. He folded the plastic-wrapped paper away again, and watched the falling snow dancing in the beams of his wavering headlights. 

“Gorsuch,” a man answered with a tired, gravely voice. 

“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you so late at night. We need your towing service. Are you available?”

The man sighed, as if he were stretching. Hotch could hear a loud TV in the background – some sort of sporting event was going on.

“I’ll send Matt out for you. Where you at?” the man asked. 

There was a second voice in the background, muttering, "Aw man. Shoot the puck!" just loud enough to hear. 

“No idea,” Hotch admitted. “There was a moose…” 

“There often is,” the man on the phone agreed. “Do you know where you are? You see any signs close?” 

“Greenville is five miles back.”

“Are you near Dyer Road?” 

“I think we passed a sign for it,” Hotch confirmed. 

“All right. Hang tight. The boy will be there quick.” 

Reid finished collecting his odds and ends. He tucked the lube away in his satchel. Everything else was neatly tucked back into the big brown paper bag. Spencer stared expectantly at Hotch as Aaron was putting away the phone. 

“They’re on the way,” Aaron murmured.

“What did he say when you told him it was a moose?” 

“He did not seem at all surprised. I think I interrupted his hockey game. Captain Spaulding could be here before the tow truck. Ensign James said she was coming on soon.” 

“When was that?” 

“A while ago,” Hotch shrugged. 

“I doubt she will be here before the tow truck. She is supposed to be on a date,” Reid relayed, shivering against Hotch’s side. 

“We should get in the car.” 

“I don't think that's a good idea. The vehicle was shifting as I collected my things. If we sit in the vehicle, it will sink deeper into the mud,” Reid answered. 

“It’s not going to matter at this point if it sinks deeper in the mud.” 

“Sitting in the vehicle may make retrieving it more difficult.”

“We aren’t driving her anywhere else tonight,” Hotch assured Reid grimly. “You’re trembling.” 

“My feet are wet.”

“You need shelter.”

Hotch opened the rear passenger door, and carefully supported Reid as he climbed back in. Spencer sat very nervously on the seat. His face filled with fear as he could feel the vehicle shifting again, sliding sideways with a sucking, slurping noise. Reid clawed at Hotch, and scrambled back out of the car. Spencer hugged his satchel to his side, and clutched the paper bag as well. Hotch looked ready to pick him up and stuff him back inside. 

“No,” Reid refused. 

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Hotch warned. 

“I’ll be fine,” Reid sniffled. 

“There are blankets in the back compartment,” Hotch said, opening the door again. Reid tugged firmly and authoritatively on Hotch's arm, and pulled him away from the SUV. It was shifting again. Hotch watched as the vehicle’s rear end slide further downward into the mire. 

“It’s been snowing and/or raining almost all week. The ground is saturated. The vehicle might be flooded. You are not getting back in there,” Reid stated, tugging Hotch even further away from the car. 

“It’s not safe to stand in the middle of the damned highway,” Hotch protested. “What if someone else comes along? We’ll cause a second wreck.” 

Reid kept his grip on Hotch’s arm, walking him down the highway to where a second fallen tree offered a temporary seat. Perhaps someone else had had an snowy experience similar to their own, maybe even with the same recalcitrant moose who refused to acknowledge that his snack shack was the only paved road between A and B in this rustic locale. Reid was having a hard time navigating the road in his soggy loafers. Hotch kept Reid from tumbling on the highway, and settled him on the bow of the fallen tree. 

“Your feet are soaked, and you’re shivering,” Aaron remarked. He slid an arm around Spencer as he took a seat on the fallen tree too. 

“Thanks. That’s better,” Reid admitted, leaning sideways against Hotch. 

“The guy at the towing company said it wouldn’t be long,” Hotch soothed. Reid put down the paper bag, and tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“Good thing you had their number,” Spencer remarked. 

“I had a hunch,” Hotch shrugged. Their breath haloed white around them. He nosed a kiss to Reid’s icy cheek, and held him close. “Spaulding had a date? Our Spaulding? Are you sure?” Aaron asked a moment later. Had the words only now registered with him? 

“It’s not a date-date. More of a working date. Ensign James called it a safety date.”

“Oh,” Hotch nodded.

“Have you ever been on a safety date?” Reid asked. Hotch smiled as he thought about how many years he and Reid had worked together before giving into their mutual attraction for each other. How many times had Hotch invited the entire team out for dinner when all he had really wanted was a table for two, romantic candlelight, and a bottle of wine to share with Spencer Reid? How often had he dreamed about spending the evening feeding Reid small bites of food while gazing into those beautiful brown eyes? 

“Yes,” Aaron answered. "So have you.” 

Reid was genuinely surprised. 

“I have? Oh! Headlights,” Spencer whispered in a rush. He struggled to get to his feet. Hotch pulled them both to a standing position, and they faced the road, waiting in anticipation. A small blue tow truck was slowing down, its engine humming and rumbling like a muscle car. It eased to a halt, and continued to slide a couple of feet. Hotch and Reid backed up nervously. 

“Did you call?” the kid at the wheel shouted to them, his voice echoing loudly. He was barely twenty, had a burly build, a mop of dark hair, and a friendly smile. “Damn! Is that your car? Goose said you hit a moose!” 

“We didn’t hit the moose. We did hit a tree branch though,” Hotch corrected. The kid took off his hat, climbing down out of the tow truck to shake Hotch’s hand. 

“Hi. I’m Matt. Was the moose standing in the middle of the road?” the kid asked. 

“Yes,” Reid confirmed, shivering. 

“That sounds like Roger,” the kid remarked. “Lucky you didn't hit him. He's a big son of a bitch. You ever seen what happens when a thousand-pound hunk of flying mammal gets tossed through a car windshield?" 

"No," Hotch shuddered. 

"It's not pretty. Let’s go take a look at your car there. Wow. Another couple feet, and that branch would have been in the passenger compartment. You two sure are lucky," Matt whistled.

“Why don’t you climb up in there and get warm?” Hotch said to Reid, pointing to the tow truck cab. 

“Yeah, go on,” the kid agreed, seeing the degree to which Reid was beginning to quake. Hotch boosted Reid into the passenger side of the cab. Spencer huddled up in the seat. Hotch set the paper bag in the floorboard full of fast food bags and about ten years’ worth of duplicate copies of towing bills, then closed the door.


	37. Right Under Your Feet

37 - Right Under Your Feet

 

“I’m sorry about your rental car,” Matt said. 

“No, it’s okay,” Hotch repeated for the tenth time. 

“I mean, if the axle wasn’t damaged, and the front left tire wasn’t shot, and you didn't have a branch sticking through the radiator and the engine compartment, maybe we could have fixed her,” Matt continued. 

“It’s okay,” Hotch soothed.

“I’ll take you back to your hotel. In the morning, we’ll get the bigger truck, more horsepower, and bigger torque. This baby, she’s got torque, but that mud was freezing around the back wheels, and that shit is worse than cement when it's solid again. Tomorrow we'll get the big truck out.”

“Good thing we paid the deductible,” Hotch joked. 

They were headed back into Greenville. Reid was dozing against Hotch. Even though there were three of them in the small cab, they weren’t cramped at all. Matt had the heater revved up on high. Hotch was enjoying the warmth, with Reid nestled against him, hip to hip. If the kid noticed or cared how close Hotch and Reid were sitting, he didn’t remark on it. 

“Goose will know what to do in the morning,” Matt promised. 

“Thanks for coming out on such a miserable night,” Hotch said.

“It’s my third call. I’ve missed most of the game, but the Sabres are losing again, so it's no big deal." 

“Were all your calls from out-of-towners?” Hotch asked. 

“Oh yeah,” Matt confirmed. “The locals know better than to venture out in this weather. Are you in town for long? You two are part of that task force working on those missing persons’ cases, right?” 

“Yes,” Hotch nodded. Matt grinned at him. 

“I could tell by your clothes. No offense, but you need to get some warmer winter gear if you plan on being here a long time. You can’t let the skinny guy go out in loafers in a foot of snow.”

"Good advice," Hotch agreed. 

Reid’s eyes drifted back open. He was staring at the many receipts in the floorboard, dampened by his soggy loafers. He lifted one foot, and pulled a receipt or two aloft. Hotch reached down and pulled the receipts off Reid’s shoe, tucking the pages up on the dash, where any number of similar receipts also resided. Reid lifted his head, reached out, and pulled the receipt back into his hand. 

Hotch wondered what about the piece of paper was so fascinating Reid. Spencer inhaled in surprise, and his eyes darted over to Matt Gorsuch. Reid gave a passable attempt at a sneeze, and followed with a very authentic sniffle. Hotch took the receipt away, tucked it up on the dashboard again, and whisked a Kleenex out of the crushed box on the floor near Reid’s wet feet. He gave the tissue to Reid, and shook his head at him. 

“You need some hot tea when we get back to the hotel,” Hotch said. 

“What you need is chicken soup. Aunt Mary used to make the best chicken soup,” Matt interjected. 

“There’s the hotel,” Hotch said, pointing ahead on the foggy road. Matt nodded, and he angled the tow truck carefully to the side of the highway, making the turn into the big parking lot with grace and ease despite the slippery road surface and the drifts that were beginning to pile up. 

“Gimme a call in the morning, and we’ll pull your car out of the ditch then,” the kid said amiably. 

“We should call the police,” Reid said to Hotch as Matt. 

“Damn,” Aaron cursed as he fumbled with the door handle. “We should have called before we even left the scene. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that at the time!”

"Mister, an accident will shake you up, even if you don’t think it was serious. Call the rental place, and call the police station once you're inside. Tell them where your car is. The chief will understand completely. Hey, and if it's Marcie at the desk at the rental place, tell her I said hi,” Matt beamed. 

Hotch got the door open and climbed down. Reid scooted sideways slowly, dragging along his satchel and the brown paper bag. He knocked a multitude of receipts out of the floorboard and onto the ground on his exit, and landed hard on his knees on the ground. The Gorsuch boy stifled a laugh as Hotch helped Reid upright. Hotch and Reid both bent down and retrieved the slips of paper which had fallen out. 

“Sorry. I’m such an idiot,” Reid babbled, picking up the pages in reach, stacking them in a tidy bundle. Hotch was quick to note that Reid was turning every receipt face up and head up, which gave him the opportunity to read the name and date on each and everyone of them. Hotch retrieved the ones that were dancing around the parking lot space. “I’m so sorry,” Reid apologized again and again. 

“It’s all right, man. No harm done,” Matt smiled. Hotch handed the retrieved receipts to Reid. Spencer made quite a show of stacking them one at a time in the same alignment as the others he already held. Reid stretched back up into the cab and set them on the seat. 

“Sorry,” he whispered meekly again. The Gorsuch boy grinned at him. 

“Catch up with you in the morning,” Matt promised. 

“Thanks again for the ride,” Reid replied. He closed the door with a sniffle, hugging his satchel to his chest. Hotch was holding the brown paper bag. The dampened bottom was sagging. He was barely holding the contents inside. They watched Matt turn the big tow truck around, and waved to him as he departed the lot and headed out onto the highway. As Hotch was waving, the bottom of the bag gave way in a tumble of red hearts, chocolates, valentines, and pet toys. 

“How many of the receipts did you manage to read?” Hotch said, his smile frozen on his face. Matt was watching them as he drove off. 

"Miranda Horn was the only familiar name that I spotted,” Reid replied.

“Let’s go get Jack Sudbrink out of bed,” Hotch said. He bent down to pick up the valentines. Reid got down on his knees, helping too. Hotch paused on the envelope with an April date. He tugged it open, and pulled out the tiny card. It was a cartoon lion with a crown. 'Your love is king' - it proclaimed. Reid watched with a twinkle in his eyes as Hotch read the inside of card out loud. “ ‘Naked on my bed. Your scent and taste on my tongue. Your hands on my skin’.” Hotch read the date again. Aaron gave Reid a startled glance, and reached for another envelope. 

“Those are for later,” Reid sniffled, stuffing the small cards into his satchel. Hotch hung onto the one he had opened, putting it in his jacket pocket.


	38. The Devil's Advocate

38 - The Devil's Advocate

 

“You can’t be serious about this,” Jack Sudbrink exclaimed. He was meeting with Hotch and Reid in the hotel lobby less than an hour after they had called him. Hotch was pacing back and forth. Reid was touching his nose with a tissue and sipping from a mug. 

“He had a receipt in the floorboard which stated that Gorsuch Towing worked on Miranda Horn’s car in October of 2008,” Hotch murmured to Sudbrink in a low voice so the hotel clerk at the desk could not overhear them. 

"I already knew that. It's in her file. They also towed Glory Lovelace's car. What's the big deal? I thought Miranda Horn disappeared from the Bangor Greyhound bus station.”

“She was last seen there. Because we haven't been able to locate any family for her, it's been very difficult to account for her last few days or hours,” Hotch argued. 

"If Miranda Horn called Gorsuch Towing for help with her car, and her car was beyond hope, one or the other of the two men might have driven her to the bus station,” Reid suggested. 

“So what if they did? If she was already out of the truck and at the bus station, why did she get back in the vehicle?" Sudbrink asked. 

“She must not have been able to get a bus to where she needed to go,” Hotch replied. “He must have offered her a ride, to a hotel, to a coffee shop, something. Anything to get her back in the truck." 

“We never found Miranda Horn’s car. We know she had one, but we never were able to locate it,” Sudbrink said. 

“Perhaps they sold it at auction, like what almost happened with Glory Lovelace’s vehicle before you intervened,” Reid suggested. 

“You've got to be wrong. I’ve known Goose since grade school, and Matt since he was born. They’re not involved in this. I….Goose’s wife….” Sudbrink defended. 

“What?” Reid asked.

“Goose.”

“What about him?” 

“His wife’s name was Marie. He called her ‘Mary’ though.”

“Oh,” Reid whispered, eyes getting bright and sharp. 

“You’ve got to be wrong,” Sudbrink decided, clenching his jaw tightly. 

“We want to be wrong, honestly we do,” Hotch insisted. 

“Goose is a church elder. He and his wife were married at Saint Michael’s. She is buried in their cemetery. Goose is gentle and kind to everyone. He’s a big guy, yeah, and he’s never been violent or dangerous. He's shy. He’d give you the shirt off his back. I’m sorry, but Goose Gorsuch is no killer,” Sudbrink frowned. “This is bat-shit crazy. I'm telling you, you’re wasting our time.” 

“Fine. But we have to follow through the proper procedure with this, and make damned sure,” Hotch pushed back. 

“All right. I get it. You’re being the Devil’s Advocate. Prove Goose is not our guy, and we can eliminate him from the pool of suspects.”

“Exactly,” Reid nodded. "Let's go." 

“Not you. Grab your tea, and go to bed, right now,” Hotch said. 

“No,” Reid shot back, eyes narrowed. 

“Reid,” Hotch frowned.

“No,” Spencer repeated firmly. 

“All right,” Aaron relented. He pulled off his own coat and wrapped it around Reid’s shoulders.


	39. On The Right Track

39 - On the Right Track

 

"Here, tough guy,” Sudbrink smiled, sliding a mug of coffee at Reid. Spencer looked up from his computer screen and smiled back timidly. He pulled the mug into his grip and took a small slurp. 

“Thanks,” Reid whispered. 

“Anything interesting? You’ve been watching that footage over and over again all night.” 

“I wanted to go back over the readings. The Gorsuch family owns this plot of land by the edge of Moosehead Lake,” Reid indicated, slowing the FLIR and ground penetrating radar footage down to a halt. 

“Yeah. It’s a tiny place, but the hunting is good there,” Sudbrink agreed. 

“Nothing unusual about the land that they own. It has two historical structures beneath the ground, but that’s not out of the ordinary. There is no indication of buried bodies around their property.”

“That’s good news,” Jack decided. 

“I’m checking real estate records to see if Goose’s wife might have owned land, or if her family had any space around the lake,” Reid said, sipping again. 

“Why didn't you ask me? Mary's family has a small place up there. It’s on the northwest side of the lake. They’re from both sides of the border. Her family is French-Canadian and American. But Mary’s never had a police record, never been in trouble with the law. She was a good woman. Goose has no police record either. He’s never been in trouble. He's never had so much as a parking ticket. Matt’s too young to fit your profile or your witness statements,” Sudbrink continued. 

“Matt is far too young,” Reid confirmed. 

“Matt’s dad, Matt Senior, we called him Moose. Moose and Goose. They were quite a pair back in the day. As shy and quiet as Goose is, Moose was just the opposite. Loud and boisterous. You could hear him laugh a block away. Moose's wife took off when Matt Junior was an baby. Packed up and left without a word one night." 

"Why did she leave?" Reid asked. 

"Rumor was that Moose was cheating on her, but I think that was a doomed relationship from the start. Not my place to wonder. Anyhow, the brothers buried themselves in their work. They are good people - salt of the earth people. Everyone was shocked and saddened when Moose died in a hunting accident. No one more than Goose. That was right around the time Mary drowned too. Losing the two of them so close together, the grief of it all changed Goose. He hasn't been the same since. He and Matt Junior have been leaning on each other. They're close as father and son. Surely you don’t think Goose and Matt are doing this together,” Sudbrink frowned. 

Reid pondered the thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not believe so. Megan Tremblay was attacked by only one man, and Matt Gorsuch does not fit his description.” 

“Hotchner and I are headed out to meet Matt, and see if we can get your SUV unstuck. Sorry. I should have warned you about Roger,” Sudbrink rambled. 

“For a wild animal, that moose appears to have a notorious reputation among the local populace,” Reid remarked. "Deputy McElvie knew who it was immediately, as did Deputy Stevens." 

“We all know about Roger. He's been causing accidents around these parts for years. I swear he stands in the road to get attention,” Sudbrink joked.

“Maybe,” Reid agreed, remembering how the moose had held his dramatic pose long enough for Hotch to snap his picture.

“Call us if you find anything,” Sudbrink pointed to the computer screen. 

“I will,” Reid promised, dabbing his nose with a tissue. 

Sudbrink hadn’t been gone two minutes when Spaulding entered the room, a duffel bag in hand. 

“Dr. Reid, enough is enough. Give me those damned loafers,” the captain said, sitting down in the empty chair at the small table. 

“Good Morning,” Reid smiled. 

“I’m not kidding. Give me those shoes.” 

"I know your overt concern this morning is a result of embarrassment at being caught away from your post last night at an inopportune time, but I assure you, there was no harm done. It was a very minor accident. I am fine,” Reid whispered. Spaulding's frown did not lessen in the slightest. 

“Shoes,” she insisted more firmly. Spencer curled his feet under his chair and took a sip of coffee. “Dr. Reid, if you plan to keep trotting around in a foot of frozen snow and falling mud, or falling snow and frozen mud, being out in the middle of a snowstorm, up to your ass in damp and cold, you’re going to be dressed properly. Take off your shoes and socks.” 

Reid put down his coffee mug, scooted back his chair, and toed off his ruined loafers. He reached down to take off his sodden socks. Actually, they were Hotch’s sodden socks. Spencer’s feet were damp and clammy, and a shocking color of white. Spaulding was unzipping her duffel. Two heavy objects dropped to the floor. 

“When I called, Ensign James told me you were tucked in for the night, and that he was taking a room two doors down. I assumed you wouldn’t be going back out. What in the world possessed you and Agent Hotchner to go for a drive that late at night?” Spaulding scolded gently.

“We needed something at the store,” Reid stammered. 

"Thanks for thinking of Snippy. He is enjoying his crunchies and the squeaky duck very much." 

"You're welcome," Reid beamed. “How did last night go?” he asked as Spaulding set a thick pair of socks in his out-stretched hand. 

“Fine,” she peeped, hoping the conversation would end right there. It did not, naturally.

“Fine?” Reid probed carefully. 

“Brett’s cadets performed very admirably. He’s going to have a damned fine class of kids there when they graduate. He should be proud.” 

Reid was pulling on the warm socks. “James called it a safety date.” 

“It wasn’t a date. It was a training exercise,” Spaulding stressed. 

“Mm hmm. Okay. I get it.” 

“It wasn't a date. I was on duty, in a manner of speaking.” 

“Are you’re scoping out LaFlamme's recruits for General Scott?” Reid asked softly. 

“I'm not at liberty to say,” she whispered back. 

“I am so disappointed in you. Here I was, picturing a candlelight dinner, a couple glasses of wine, and a bearskin rug before a roaring fireplace.”

“You need to stop reading romance novels, Doc.” 

“All work and no play makes Amy a dull girl.” 

“Doc,” Spaulding warned. “I’m armed, and I’m dangerous, and I haven’t had any coffee yet. Don’t press your luck.” 

“I’m shutting up,” Reid replied quickly. “Nice boots. Thank you.” 

“At least they’ll keep your toes from curling up and dropping off.” 

“If only I weren’t condemned to desk duty, I might get a chance to get them dirty,” Reid lamented, sliding his long toes inside the deep, thick leather and heavy soles. 

“You need me to lace them up for you?” 

It was Reid’s turn to frown at Spaulding, and when he did, she gave a wide grin. 

“I’m going to get some coffee. Can I bring you anything?” Spaulding asked. 

“Cinna-bons?” Reid replied hopefully. 

“Wish I could help,” Spaulding shook her head. "Closest thing you'll get in these parts would be at the Tim Hortons down in Bangor. They have great chili, by the way. The Tim-bits are amazing too. Yum. Well, anyhow, I'll be around if you need me." 

She opened the duffel bag, and Reid deposited his shoes and socks inside. Spaulding zipped up the bag and vanished into the squad room. Reid fumbled with the computer, trying to make the FLIR readings run more slowly. They sped up as he tapped keys. He tapped more slowly on the down arrow key, and the footage slowed to a gradual halt. He hit the return button, and the footage started over from the beginning. 

The front doors to the police station opened. Reid looked at this watch, and listened for the familiar sound of Mrs. Francis’s vehicle pulling away, sputtering past the front window. Right on schedule, Joy Lovelace had arrived. Everyone turned to smile at Joy, or more specifically, at the giant plastic container she was carrying. Every day she brought baked treats. The task force had begun to associate Joy’s arrival with home-baked goodies. No one frowned any more when she walked through the door in the morning. She did not disappoint today either. The smell of warm oatmeal and cinnamon billowed around her. 

“Morning, Dr. Reid,” Joy called out. She had been stopped about halfway through the squad room as people were digging into the container, humming and moaning with delight. 

“Mmm…..muffins….oh my God, they’re so good…..” Stevens groaned, taking two and heading back to his desk.


	40. The Accident Scene

40 - The Accident Scene

 

The accident scene didn’t look any better in the light of day. At least the snow had let up for a while. It would be returning in force later in the afternoon though when two major weather systems were predicted to plow through the area. Hotch stood in the middle of the two-lane highway and watched with dismay as Matt Gorsuch worked to wrap a chain around the underside frame of his rental SUV frozen into the mud in the ditch. Sudbrink stood next to Hotch, and watched him watching Matt. The kid had brought a bigger tow truck, as he had promised he would. It was a long black and silver vehicle which had sounded like a train when he was pulling up to the scene. 

“Wonder what’s keeping Goose,” Hotch commented to the police chief. 

“Don’t know. Sure he’ll be along, by and by," Sudbrink answered. 

“Hope so," Hotch grumbled. 

“He’ll be along. He was moving slow this morning. Bet he stopped somewhere for more coffee,” Matt assured them before getting back out from under the vehicle and standing up again. He headed over to the tow truck cab, and climbed inside. Pink sheets of paper tumbled out -- more towing receipts. Sudbrink picked the sheets up, holding onto them as Matt revved his engine. The entrenched SUV complained, but once the chain was taut, the SUV began to inch out of the ditch. Matt turned around in his seat to watch the SUV fighting every inch of progress out of the muck and mud. 

"Damn, you two were lucky," Sudbrink commented, shaking his head. 

"Yep," Hotch agreed as he watched the entrenched SUV fight against the tow truck. 

A horn behind Hotch startled him. He turned around on the road, and caught his breath in surprise. An ancient, rusted farm truck was pulling through the barrier keeping other cars back. It was a brown-red color, had rounded fenders, and a tall cab. Its windows were almost fogged over. Hotch glanced at Sudbrink, who frowned in reply. 

"Don't get excited. Lots of people have old farm trucks," Sudbrink told him. 

Matt stopped revving the tow truck engine. “Hey!” he shouted out the window, grinning. 

“Hey!” another man called back. He put the old truck in park. It took several tries to get the driver’s door open. The handle fell off into the mud and slush. Undaunted, the driver picked it up, brushed it off, and refitted it back together with the door. 

“Agent Hotchner, Gregory Gorsuch,” Chief Sudbrink made brief introductions as the man approached. Sudbrink noticed the vague resemblance between Hotch and Goose. Hotch did his best not to notice it. 

The camouflage and flannel clad figure gave Hotch a careful study from under a furrowed brow. The stare lasted for a second or two before the nervous but friendly smile broke open his round face. He was a big guy, no two ways about it, built like a tall barrel, huge shoulders, broad chest, long arms, and legs like tree trunks. He could have been very intimidating, but he wasn’t. 

“Call me Goose,” the man said shyly. 

“Hotch,” Aaron said, shaking hands with the older Gorsuch. Goose had a powerful grip, a kind face, and a trustworthy demeanor. Hotch kept waiting for that horrible, eerie feeling to come over him at the thought that he might be shaking the hand of a dangerous serial killer. But that feeling never materialized. This guy was big, but he wasn’t scary. He came across as normal. If this was their guy, Hotch could understand completely why an overly-cautious woman would feel safe accepting help or a ride from him. 

“You’re the guy who had the run-in with Roger? We spoke on the phone last night," Goose said. 

“I even got a picture of him,” Hotch tested out a quick smile, handing Goose his cell phone. Goose took it cautiously, tilting the small implement left and right, up and down. A thin smirk moved his mouth to the side. 

“That’s Roger, all right. He’s got a couple scars on his rump from buckshot,” Goose confirmed, handing Hotch back his phone. “Matt, why don’t you get down and let me have a go at it?” the older man called up to the younger one, patting the side of the tow truck with one meaty paw. 

“Here,” Sudbrink said, giving Goose the pink papers he was holding absently. “Your filing cabinet needs to be straightened.” 

“Guess so,” Goose agreed amicably. “Matt keeps saying we need to hire us a pretty receptionist to put things in order, but I don’t think Mary would approve of me doing that.” 

Matt climbed down, and Goose hauled himself up. He was limber for a big man in his forties. The younger Gorsuch stood by Hotch and Sudbrink, interrupting the serious look they were exchanging. Goose eased the transmission down into a lower gear, and moved forward inches at a time. The SUV reluctantly followed him, leaving a gory smear of brown and black up the side of the ditch and onto the pavement. Goose pulled the wrecked vehicle into the proper lane, and waved backwards to Matt. His face was visible in the big, rectangular side-view mirror of the tow truck. His amiable smile focused directly on Hotch. The smile faded away to narrowed eyes. 

“We’ll take her back to the shop and see what we can do,” Matt promised. He hurried back to Goose’s battered old farm truck, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Deputy Stevens moved the barrier at the far end of the crash site, allowing Goose to pull the tow truck and the wrecked SUV through. Matt slowed down the farm truck, stopping next to Hotch and Sudbrink. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the cab of the truck, but it wasn't strong enough to cover the scent of motor oil. There was a fuzzy brown blanket covering the seat. 

“We’ll be over soon,” Sudbrink promised him. Hotch wasn’t looking at Matt. He was looking at the foggy windows, at the hand prints that were appearing on the glass, and the foot print on the windshield. 

“Sure thing,” Matt smiled. He followed in Goose’s muddy wake. Hotch was having a hard time letting them drive away. Sudbrink could tell. He watched Hotch stare longingly at the trucks as the Gorsuch team departed.

“We need warrants for the house, the vehicles, and any other residences,” Hotch murmured low and deep. 

“I hoped you’d change your mind when you met Goose. Does he seem like a killer to you?” Sudbrink demanded. 

“No,” Hotch admitted. “He doesn’t seem at all like a killer. But I want those warrants, nonetheless.”


	41. Search Warrants

41 - Search Warrants

 

Sudbrink and Hotch were silently arguing with each other when they returned to the Greenville Police Station. They might as well have been butting heads like big horn sheep. Janeen was the first to pick up on the tension. 

“Chief?!” the receptionist bolted up out of her chair when Sudbrink stormed through the front of the building and walked right past her. She raced after him, stuffed several messages into his meaty hand, and followed down the hallway as Hotch and Sudbrink stomped their way into the chief’s office. 

“Hold my calls,” Sudbrink ordered, slamming the door behind them. 

“Sure,” Janeen said, walking slowly back towards her desk in the front area, looking as mopey as a scolded puppy. 

Reid had picked up on the tension too. He rose to his feet and made his way to the outer area, pacing around in the squad room. The phone rang, and he flinched. Janeen picked up her headset and got back to work. Joy Lovelace rose to follow in Reid’s footsteps, carrying along her container of muffins. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back. 

"They sure look pissed," Joy commented. 

"Yes, they do," Reid agreed. 

“Like a couple of angry tom cats ready to square off. What do we do? Should we barge in?”

“We cannot barge in. It would be rude.” 

“What if we barge in nicely?” 

“We can’t barge in, not even nicely.”

“We could get Dr. Lind to barge in. She wouldn’t even have to be nice about it.”

“She left a few minutes ago.” 

“Where’d she go?” 

“I have no idea,” Reid admitted. He thought she might have been having another argument by phone with her daughter, and had stepped outside for privacy. 

“What happened to Miss Priss?” Joy wondered. 

“Agent Jareau is reviewing the trace evidence reports from Josie's carrier, and the personal items from Glory’s car, and from the car itself, to see if we have missed anything important.” 

“Thanks for the list, by the way,” Joy said. She picked up a muffin and nibbled. 

“Was the black and white sweater on the list?” Reid asked. 

“No,” Joy answered. 

“Is that good or bad?” he asked. “Does that mean you believe Ms. Harmony might be in contact with Glory?” 

“I don't know what to believe. Part of me thinks Ms. Harmony is some New Age nut who spends too much time home alone with her cats and magic crystals. Another part of me thinks when she's not working, she's home alone because she has no friends. She is socially-ostracized due to her special abilities. I know what it’s like when the whole world looks at you and thinks you’re a freak. Maybe Ms. Harmony could use a friend,” Joy said glumly. 

“You could be right,” Reid agreed. When Joy stopped moving, Reid lifted a muffin out of the container. 

“What happens to Glory’s things, when all is said and done?” Joy asked. 

“As her next of kin, you would take custody of those items which are not necessary pieces of evidence.”

“I need to decide what to bury her in. She took all her best clothes along for the trip. And my favorite sweater. And Mom's earrings. She wanted to dress up to see Pete," Joy whispered sadly. "Is there a proper etiquette to follow when deciding what to dress people in for their funeral?” 

“It would be most appropriate to follow Glory’s wishes, if she made any specific wishes known to you.”

“We never talked about funeral arrangements. If I brought it up, Glory would say I was being morbid,” Joy whispered with a sniffle. “Mom was buried in this horrible dress, and I have always worried she was mad about it. But the dress covered…” Joy paused and motioned to her chest. “The stab wounds,” she added in an embarrassed whisper. 

“There is that to consider,” Reid agreed unhappily. 

“Megan’s scar,” Joy shivered, touching her neck. “If this guy strangled Glory, I’m going to need to get Glory a pretty scarf to cover her throat.”

“Please, I know it’s difficult, but it might be better if you put your mind on other matters, and tried not to picture these things,” Reid offered tenderly. 

“Easier said than done,” Joy assured him. He nodded sympathetically. "Do you feel this is a good lead that they want to follow?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you sure? I can't believe it's the towing guys. I went to their shop. I talked to that older guy. He was so nice, Dr. Reid. Polite. Bashful even. Terrible memory though. Are you sure this could be the guy who hurt Glory? I mean, could you be wrong?" 

"We could be wrong," Reid admitted. 

"He didn't seem like a killer to me." 

"They often don't," Reid reminded her softly. "Remember when you said that your father showed one face to you and Glory, and one face to your mother? Many killers project normalcy as a means of luring victims into a false sense of security. That may be the very way he fooled your sister and the others." 

Dr. Lind passed by the police station on the sidewalk outside. She whipped around the corner and reached for the doors, having to pull very hard to get them to open for her. Once she was inside, she pulled off her hat and fluffed up her hair. When she spotted Reid and Joy, she walked over. 

“Sorry," she said, tucking away her cell phone. "Have we heard anything from Agent Jareau about the trace evidence review?” she asked. Although she looked cross, she wanted to make it clear, she wasn't cross at them. 

“Not yet, ma’am,” Reid replied. 

“Where is Agent Hotchner?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“He is in the chief’s office, hoping to convince Sudbrink that we need search warrants for the Gorsuch family residences and place of business," Reid replied. 

“Good job, Dr. Reid, spotting Miranda Horn’s name on the towing receipts,” Dr. Lind interjected. “We knew before that they had towed Glory Lovelace's car, but I don't believe we knew about Miranda Horn's car. "

"The chief thought he had written that in Miss Horn's file, but I did not find his notation. Perhaps it was something he knew, but only thought that he had notated," Reid said. "It is a connection between the two women, but it's not proof that the Gorsuches have done anything criminal. To be honest, I would like something more tangible than circumstantial evidence like this. Perhaps once we have a chance to collect all the slips from all their vehicles, we will find connections to the other women as well. Perhaps not. Even if we do find that connection, it would only be proof of having their cars towed. Don't forget that Megan Tremblay was hitch-hiking, so there would be no receipt for her. Nor for Kristie Northland, as her mother suspects she was hitch-hiking as well. As Cadet Shaw did not own a car, it is possible she was also hitch-hiking." 

"I would also like something more firm to go on other than circumstantial evidence. Hotch doesn't have to have Chief Sudbrink’s permission to get the search warrants. But it is wise of him to wait for consent before he proceeds," Dr. Lind said approvingly. 

"This is Chief Sudbrink's jurisdiction, and we don't want to offend him. He has been invaluable to our case, and he and his staff have been very accommodating,” Reid said. 

“I heard you and Hotchner had a run-in with a too-friendly moose late last night? You had to swerve off the road? Is that how you bruised your chin?” 

“Yes,” Reid nodded. He touched his chin, unaware it was even bruised. He looked over to Joy for confirmation. She peered under his chin and to the side. She tisked softly, touching him carefully with her fingertips. 

"Go without shaving for a couple days, and no one will even see that," Joy assured Reid. 

“You weren’t creeping around last night, following hunches on the case, were you? He who is limited to desk duty unless I say otherwise?” Dr. Lind asked, piercing Reid with a dark look.

“No, ma’am. We were off-duty, and out for personal reasons."

"And you just happened to need a tow truck?" 

"If we hadn't been out, we wouldn't have had an accident. If we hadn't had our accident, we would never have needed a tow truck. I'd like to tell you it was a calculated ploy of sheer genius, drawing a suspect out into the open, but it was mere coincidence," Reid admitted sheepishly. 

“What could possibly drive you to leave your warm, comfy bed in the middle of a snowstorm?” Simone wondered. "The simplest motivations for all our actions boil down to money, sex, or power. So which was it, Dr. Reid?" 

Reid blushed slightly, but did not answer. He stared down at his boots, cleared his throat, and brushed muffin crumbs off his tie. 

"Are those new?" Dr. Lind asked. 

"We were out for. Personal reasons," Reid stammered. "Yes. The boots are new." 

Joy watched Reid, smiling slightly. Dr. Lind sensed his embarrassment, and put two and two together. Or perhaps one and one? 

“Forget I asked. None of my business,” Dr. Lind amended, a blush creeping into her face too. 

Chief Sudbrink’s office door slammed open. Jack stormed out, followed by Hotch. Neither man looked any less angry than he had a few minutes before. Hotch was pulling on his coat. 

“REID!” Hotch bellowed at the same time that Sudbrink bellowed, “STEVENS!”

Reid hurried towards Hotch so he wouldn’t have to shout. Dr. Lind followed in Reid’s wake. Joy did as well. Stevens appeared quickly, and Sudbrink briefed him on the situation. 

“Do we have news, Agent Hotchner?” Dr. Lind asked as she and Reid joined Hotch where he was standing and buttoning his coat. 

“We’ve been granted permission to search the Gorsuch residences and their place of business. The warrants should be coming off the fax any second,” Hotch revealed. “We’re gearing up to head out.” 

“Where do you want to start? Home or business?” Dr. Lind asked. 

“The best thing to do would be to take both men into custody, and conduct the searches simultaneously,” Hotch replied. 

“I agree,” Sudbrink interjected. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with Hotch, but turned in the opposite direction to speak with his day deputy and with Janeen. 

“Do we have enough man-power to execute search warrants for that many places at one time?” Dr. Lind worried. 

“We’ll split the task force into teams. I'll call Jareau and Torg. They were down the street having breakfast while reviewing the trace evidence,” Hotch said.

"Lieutenant Bonifant and I will handle bringing in Goose and Matt for questioning. She's had twenty-five years experience bringing people in safely. She's never had a take-down go south. She's never had a suspect or an officer wounded. I don't want anyone to get hurt," Sudbrink said. "I want Bonifant in charge." 

"I agree completely. Bonifant takes the lead at the garage," Hotch agreed. 

“How many locations do we have to cover?” Lind asked. 

“Four: the primary residence, the place of business, the Gorsuch family cabin, and the Sulière cabin. That’s Mary’s family,” Sudbrink answered, pulling on his coat as well. He put two fingers between his teeth and whistled loudly towards the coffee room. The camo-clad soldier contingent stopped drinking coffee and hustled over. 

"Who is Mary again?" Lind asked. 

"Goose Gorsuch's wife," Hotch said. 

" 'Mary, forgive me'," Joy murmured, her brow furrowing. "Forgive me for what?" she asked rhetorically. "Can I come with you?" she pleaded with Reid. 

"I'm not going. Am I?" Spencer wondered. Hotch frowned. 

“No! You are staying here!" Aaron bellowed. Reid's shoulders drooped. "No, Reid. Not you. HER! HER! She's staying here!" Hotch added. He glared impatiently at Joy before facing Dr. Lind again. Hotch missed the acid-eyed stare that Joy sent back at him, but Reid did not. "Ma'am, I need Dr. Reid on this. He’s too valuable an asset to leave behind, especially when we need all the manpower we can get,” Hotch declared. 

Reid gave the new section chief his most distressed and hopeful stare. He actually pined, once, softly. At first Dr. Lind was ready to refuse, but after a moment of deliberation, Simone acquiesced to the logic of Hotch's request, if not to Reid's Bambi stare. 

“All right, Agent Hotchner, take Dr. Reid with you. Make sure he doesn’t get hurt."

“Yes, ma’am,” Hotch beamed. 

"What about me?" Joy pressed. 

"I'm sorry, dear, but you must stay here," Dr. Lind insisted. "It would not be professional or prudent to bring you along for this." 

"I could be helpful," Joy pressed more. 

"NO!" Hotch, Sudbrink, and Dr. Lind chorused as one, in varying degrees of loudness and intensity. 

Joy stepped back, and blinked at them. Everyone was waiting for her to burst into tears. Instead she glared at them openly. Reid looked sheepishly at the floor and then mouthed an apology to her. 

"Fine," Lovelace pouted. "I'll stay here, and feel pointless, and useless, and..."

"Come on, Joy," Janeen soothed, taking her arm. "You can help me with the phones. I've got some filing too."


	42. Rub The Wrong Way

42 - Rub the Wrong Way

 

"Oh, joy." 

"Stevens, zip it." 

"Why couldn't we get one of the other feds?" 

"It wasn't my idea. Dr. Lind is the one who assigned her to us." 

"I can't believe what they let that agent get away with. If I had pulled half of the outlandish shit she has pulled, you'd chain me to my desk and never let me out on the street. They're afraid to discipline her because she's a woman. They're afraid of a sexual discrimination suit. That's why they're letting her run wild."

"Regardless of Jareau's behavior, we should be polite."

"Should we?" Stevens laughed. "Why?"

"We should be polite, and we should thank God she's not our problem to deal with." 

"The hell she's not," Stevens pouted. "We're all having to compensate for her lack of professional behavior." 

"Shhh...." Sudbrink murmured to Stevens. Because the Gorsuch business was on the corner of two streets, they were able to approach from different directions. Sudbrink pulled up quietly, and parallel-parked next to the front curb. 

Lieutenant Bonifant parked across the street. She stood beside her jeep, pulling on her jacket. She walked over to join Sudbrink and Stevens on the sidewalk which led to the front stoop of the business. They all three waited patiently as JJ made her dramatic entrance. 

Jareau had swung her SUV around the corner, sirens wailing, lights flashing. She rolled up on the curb, threw the car in park, and jumped out of the vehicle. She left the door open and the motor running as she strapped on a bullet-proof vest, pulled out her weapon, and marched their direction.

"Aw, man," Bonifant murmured to Sudbrink and Stevens. The deputy snickered under his breath. 

"Shh...." Sudbrink chided gently. JJ kept her arms stock straight, pointing her gun down to the ground, glaring around at everyone and everything as she raced over. No one else had their weapon pulled. They wondered why she did. 

Gorsuch Towing and Car Repair occupied an old gas station and garage from the 70's. It was a three bay garage built from large white cinderblocks. The garage had the company name painted in faded red and brown letters on the broadside facing the oncoming traffic. There were metal doors pulled down in front of each bay. The driveway and the small entrance where the gas pumps had once stood had been shoveled free of snow. Above the glass door which led into the tiny customer service area, a sign blinked 'open' one letter at a time before going dark and repeating. 

"Here's the warrant. Follow my lead," JJ grunted, handing the sheet of paper to Bonifant. The lieutenant took the page, folded it in threes, and put up a hand before JJ could barrel forward and rush the door. 

"Agent Jareau. Hold up," Bonifant cautioned. 

"We're wasting time. Let's go," JJ responded brusquely. 

"Jareau, Agent Hotchner put Lieutenant Bonifant in charge. He did tell you," Sudbrink reminded her. "Let's hear what the Lieutenant has in mind before we rush in." 

JJ rolled her eyes, and stomped across the sidewalk ahead of all of them. 

"WAIT!" Bonifant bellowed, going after JJ and getting in front of her on the sidewalk. "Agent Jareau, if you can't follow my lead, you need to stand aside." 

"I do this every day, lady. It's my job. I know what I'm doing. I don't need your help."

"Agent Jareau. My name is Bonifant, and my rank is Lieutenant. Please do not address me as anything but 'Lieutenant Bonifant' or 'ma'am'."

"Yes, ma'am," JJ intoned sourly. 

"Your supervisor put me in charge of this task for a reason. Are you going to obey his command or not?"

"Why put you in charge? Are we really going to stand here and argue about jurisdiction?" JJ snarled. "I do this every day. I'm the only federal agent on scene. It's a federal warrant. I should take the lead." 

"How much actual field experience do you have serving warrants, apprehending criminals, and conducting evidentiary searches?" Bonifant smiled faintly. JJ didn't answer. She holstered her gun, crossed her arms over her chest, and frowned at the Lieutenant. "That's what I thought. I already know the answer. You have had roughly two years of experience conducting actual field work. Before that, you were a desk jockey, as you so kindly referred to my staff sergeant. I have had twenty-five years experience doing this. I have never had a take-down go wrong, or had a suspect get injured, or lost any of my personnel. That is why your supervisor, and Chief Sudbrink, wanted me to be in charge. Is this going to be a problem for you, Agent Jareau?"

"What's your point?" Jareau huffed. 

"Agent, I don't like your attitude. If you can't follow my orders, you can wait in your car while the experienced professionals handle this situation with a minimum of danger to the law enforcement officials and the suspects alike."

Lieutenant Bonifant turned and walked towards the front door. 

"Thank you," Stevens murmured with glee as he walked past JJ too. 

"Ma'am," Sudbrink said, walking past in Stevens' wake. 

JJ drew her gun from her holster, and left the sidewalk. She crossed to the garage bay doors. At the same moment that Lieutenant Bonifant knocked politely on the front door, the glass door leading into the customer service area, JJ pounded wildly on the garage door and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"FBI!! FEDERAL OFFICER! OPEN THE DOOR!" 

The three local officers on the front stoop turned and watched in horror as JJ kicked the bottom of the garage bay door and shouted again. 

"FBI!! OPEN THE DOOR, GORSUCH!" JJ bellowed. 

The chains inside the garage bay door rattled. The entire wall of metal quivered as JJ kicked again. Chief Sudbrink peered through the glass entrance. He could see Matt roll out from under Hotch's damaged SUV, and get up slowly, wiping his greasy, muddy hands on a shop cloth. Matt peered at the glass entrance like a puzzled dog. Sudbrink waved to him. So did Stevens and Bonifant. Matt obviously wondered who was kicking his bay door. 

"OPEN THE DOOR, GORSUCH!!" JJ bellowed even louder. She yanked on the handle, and when it didn't budge, she aimed her gun at the circular lock. 

'WHOA!!" Sudbrink shouted, racing over. JJ fired a shot, hitting the lock on the metal door. It popped out and bounced away into the garage, skittering into a far corner. The bay door jumped an inch. JJ raised her gun to fire again. Sudbrink put a hand on her arms and pushed them down, making her gun face the ground. 

"Agent? What the hell are you doing?" Sudbrink demanded. 

Matt Gorsuch slowly lifted the damaged bay door a few feet, bending down and peering out. He blinked wildly at them. JJ yanked herself around Sudbrink and aimed her weapon at Matt. Lieutenant Bonifant and Deputy Stevens had joined them by this point. 

"Lady?" Matt questioned nervously. "You wanna watch where you aim? There's gasoline and oil sitting right here." 

"Hey, Matt. Sorry about your lock. I'll fix that for you," Sudbrink promised. 

"Chief, what's wrong?" Matt asked, looking at JJ and her gun, and back again at Sudbrink.

"Get down on the ground! Hands behind your back! Do it! NOW!" Jareau yelled. 

"Agent Jareau, back yourself up and holster your weapon. Um, Mr. Gorsuch? Good morning. I'm Lieutenant Bonifant. This is our search warrant. We'd like for you to come down to the Greenville Police Station and answer a few questions," the MP said, giving Matt the piece of paper. 

"Chief?" Matt worried. 

"Matt, where's Goose?" Stevens asked. 

"He went out for more coffee. He'll be back. What's this about?" Matt wondered, sliding his hands down his sides to take off more of the grease and mud.

"HANDS IN THE AIR!" JJ screamed, still aiming her gun at Gorsuch. All three of the other officers gave her an annoyed sideways glance. Matt stared at her gun, and extended both hands, palms up, towards Chief Sudbrink. 

"Do you need to cuff me, Chief?" Matt asked. 

"No. You aren't under arrest, Matt. I would like to ask you a few questions though." 

"All right. Let me leave a note for Goose."

"Stevens will wait for him," Jack promised. "You need a coat, Matt. Do you want to ride with me or with the Lieutenant here?" he asked, indicating Bonifant. 

"Anybody but her," Matt commented, giving Jareau a worried stare. Sudbrink picked up Matt's coat off a hook by the door. JJ followed Sudbrink and Gorsuch to the chief's police cruiser. Matt climbed into the back seat, and Sudbrink closed the door for him. 

"You can put your gun away now, Special Agent," Sudbrink murmured. JJ stepped back, frowned at him, and tucked her gun in her holster. "Lieutenant, ma'am, am I free to take Matt down to the station?"

"Yes, Chief. We'll sit tight here and wait for Goose," Bonifant answered. 

"We should go out and search for him!" JJ demanded.

"We'll wait here on scene, and begin collecting evidence," Bonifant replied. Stevens headed for the garage door, but JJ stayed in place. 

"We should get in our cars and search for Goose Gorsuch," JJ insisted. 

"Agent Jareau, you are free to go do whatever you want to do," Bonifant replied. "I am done with you." 

JJ sprinted for her vehicle, climbed in, and took off. Her sirens sprang to life. Bonifant shook her head, and joined Stevens in the garage bay. 

"Few inches to the right, and she would have blown this garage to Kingdom Come," Stevens announced, pointing to the gas cans and the motor oil bottles lined up neatly on the shelves by the entrance, mere feet from where JJ had fired into the lock to open the bay. 

"I hear ya," Bonifant lamented. In the distance, sirens wailed as JJ prowled the streets of Greenville, Maine.


	43. The Cabin in the Woods

43 - The Cabin in the Woods

 

The wooden door creaked open with a painful groan. Hotch put the bolt cutters down against the interior wall next to the door, and tossed the ruined lock down next to them. Heavy, wet snowflakes splashed onto the antediluvian welcome mat which rested askew inside the dirty threshold. Spider webs stretched between the top of the door and the opening portal. Reid let his eyes take in the interior, at least as much as he could make out. Maybe the poor light was to blame for his dim view of the place, literally and figuratively. He knew he should reach opposite the door and fumble for the light switch, but he was nervous about putting his arm along the wall. A catalogue of arachnids indigenous to the Northeastern United States darted through Spencer’s brain, any number of whom might be dangling on the wall, waiting for him to stretch out his hand. He reminded himself that this was February, and any arachnids were no doubt over-wintering somewhere safe and warm, but that didn’t make him any less confident about putting his hand across the wall to reach for the switch. Assuming this place had electricity at all! It must have electricity though. Something mechanical hummed loudly in the dark recesses of the dwelling. 

Hotch stood behind Reid and gazed around. Far from disappointed, his face shone with what could only be described as boyish glee. Reid wondered what had so grabbed Hotch’s interest. Spencer stepped forward to allow him to enter. Reid collided with the creaky metal table and four folding chairs which were strewn around the tiny, dining area. A 1950’s-era silver icebox waited five feet away. The old fridge was the source of the humming noise. An out-of-date map of Maine was spread across the front of the rounded, dented metal surface. Moosehead Lake was the most prominent feature. Several red X’s marked local spots of interest. 

There was an odor to the cabin that made Reid’s senses reel –hints of rotten flesh and human vomit, among other offenses. Reid also recognized the unmistakable, repugnant odor of death, a scent which even the cold of winter did little to dampen. Something inside him froze almost as cold as the air around them. 

“We need shots of the interior before we touch a thing,” Hotch insisted. Reid agreed with a shaky nod. 

“Should we turn on a light?” Reid asked. 

“No,” Hotch replied. He pulled out a slim flashlight, and the slender rays teased around a narrow portion of the cabin’s interior. Reid’s worst suspicions were confirmed. It was a cave! A dusty, dirty cave! Suddenly, Spencer's whole body revolted. He froze in place. He couldn't, he wouldn't, go one more foot inside the place. “That smell,” Hotch complained, wrinkling his nose. 

Reid didn’t answer. He hugged his satchel to his chest and watched as snowflakes continued to plummet through the open door. The bathroom was straight ahead. A single incandescent bulb hung overhead, swinging from a noose of electric wire. The mustard-yellow linoleum was cracked and warped. There were rips in the linoleum. There was a stained bathtub, a tiny sink sagging on the wall, and a toilet which hadn’t seen a scrub brush since the first Bush Administration. The sink was dripping a sad, monotonous monologue of drops. It was apparently just warm enough inside this hole to keep the water from freezing, but not by much. 

Reid shivered, backing up. Cold fingers of fear were seizing his spine. He pushed past Hotch to retreat outside, and fled several steps away from the front of the dilapidated structure. Hotch followed, pocketing his flashlight. 

“Are you all right?” Aaron asked, rubbing Reid’s arm. The sound of the friction between heavy glove and over-stuffed sleeve made Spencer shiver again. “It’s hard. I know. Your first scene back. Take a deep breath,” Hotch soothed. 

“Thanks,” Reid whispered, turning entirely away from the cabin. Hotch continued to rub his arm. “We could reconnoiter the outside first,” Reid rambled. 

“We can wait until the military contingent arrives. They were a couple minutes behind us leaving the station house,” Hotch said, glancing back towards the driveway and the perimeter of the clearing, both flanked by tall evergreen trees. “Tell me what you learned about Mrs. Gorsuch on the drive over,” Hotch murmured. 

It was a not-so-subtle ruse to get Reid’s mind off the inside of the cabin. Spencer appreciated the time to collect himself. They both had realized upon taking one step inside that the dwelling closely matched the description that Megan Tremblay had been able to give them. That in and of itself didn’t prove a thing though. There might have been a hundred such cabins around this lake with the same antiquated décor. But Hotch felt they were at last headed in the right direction. While part of him was sorry that Chief Sudbrink was having a hard time believing that one of his local community members could be responsible for these crimes, there wasn’t any way Hotch was giving this suspect a pass without thoroughly investigating him. The more they investigated Goose Gorsuch, the more certain Hotch was that they had their sights set on the right suspect. 

“Mary was a brunette with blue eyes, and resembles the missing women,” Reid reported. 

“Ah,” Hotch nodded. 

“This cabin is on property which belonged to the Sulière family. Plat records indicate the family has owned this land since the late 19th century. Mary passed away in October of 2007. The property passed to her husband, Gregory Gorsuch. Goose. Mary's drowning occurred shortly after the death of Matthew Gorsuch, Sr., Goose’s brother, Matt’s father. Moose died in a hunting accident, as Chief Sudbrink said.” 

“Anything curious about that hunting accident?” Hotch wondered. Reid’s dizzy eyes latched onto his, and Reid shook his head no. “Anything curious about Mary’s passing?” 

“Nothing curious about either death, according to the state coroner at the time. Goose accidently shot Moose while they were hunting deer. Goose was cleared of any wrong-doing. Mary drowned when her fishing boat capsized. Both deaths were ruled accidents," Reid answered. 

“Both died in 2007?”

“Yes. October of 2007.” 

“The same month and year Megan Tremblay was attacked. Where did Mary drown?” 

“In the lake,” Reid pointed back towards the cabin, behind which the glitter and gleam of Moosehead Lake was barely visible between the clustered trees and overgrown bushes. 

“Anything interesting about this spot on the radar readings?” Hotch asked.

“I would need to check the footage again for this specific location,” Reid answered. “Nothing stands out in my mind. Is that a generator? It looks very new,” he added, peering back at the cabin. Hotch turned around to see. There was a hint of gray metal hiding on the corner. 

“Yes," Hotch agreed.

"Why would you need a new generator for a cabin that you rarely visit?" 

"Good question. Do you want to climb in the car and open my laptop? See if someone can send you over that specific footage? We shouldn’t go inside the cabin without taking photographs first. Wonder what’s keeping our friends?” 

Reid shrugged as he pulled off a glove with his teeth. He shook his fingers free, and pulled the glove out of his mouth. He was digging around in his satchel to find his phone. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, trembling.

“For what?”

“Reacting like some stupid, untrained cadet,” Reid laughed at himself, shaking his head as he dialed. 

“I’ve got news for you, Dr. Reid. You didn’t act like a cadet even when you were a cadet. This shaking in your knees and roiling in your stomach? That is a perfectly normal post traumatic reaction. It's your first scene back. Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine,” Hotch reassured him. 

They made their way back towards the replacement rental vehicle. Their other rental vehicle was at the Gorsuch garage. Hotch wondered how the take-down and questioning was going. Hotch had no fear that the Chief Sudbrink and his team would do anything less than a professional job. They were probably scouring the garage from attic to basement to car bays for evidence right at this very moment. Sudbrink wanted to clear the Gorsuch family of any suspicion, as quickly as possible, and that meant he was going to do his job to the fullest extent. 

“No one is picking up at the police station,” Reid relayed. He struggled to keep up with Hotch’s long strides. 

“Give them a minute. It’s probably only Janeen and Joy right now. Everyone else split up to execute the search warrants.”

“Curious that there is no answer,” Reid replied. Hotch unlocked the vehicle, and Reid climbed into the backseat instead of the front seat. Reid put down his phone and fished for Hotch’s laptop. “I actually might have the footage I need here,” Reid said, turning the laptop on and waiting for the logon screens to roll past. 

“I’d like to get a police line-up together for Megan Tremblay to look at,” Aaron remarked to Reid. “See if she can pick Goose Gorsuch out of the group.” 

“First we need a mugshot of Goose Gorsuch,” Reid said. Hotch nodded in agreement. 

“Can you bring up a picture of Mary Gorsuch and put it alongside our missing women?” Hotch requested. 

“Yes, sir.” 

It took a few moments. When Reid did manage to get the six pictures up on the screen, Hotch paused, took a step back, and squinted at them.

"They aren't an exact match, but it is close," Aaron decided. "Mary does resemble the overall group as much as they resemble each other." 

" 'Love looks not with the eyes'," Reid said. "They do have a similar facial structure, body type, and features. I have this little itch in the back of the brain,” he added as he wiggled a finger beside one ear. 

“What kind of itch?” Hotch asked. "Maybe one of your bolts came loose?" he joked. 

Reid shook his head. “By all accounts, Goose loved his wife, and was devastated by her death.”

“Yes. Sudbrink said as much.” 

“Why would Goose hunt down, abduct, rape, and kill women who looked like a wife that he loved? These crimes speak of anger, repressed too long, which explodes in frustration and violence.” 

“He loved Mary, but he was clearly mad at her.”

“What did Mary do to make him mad?” 

“I don’t know. Sudbrink is going to bring Matt and Goose both in for questioning. Maybe one of them will tell us why Goose would be mad at Mary,” Aaron said. His phone rang, and he reached across Reid to pick it up. “Agent Hotchner.”

Hotch’s face scrunched up in annoyance. He had turned down the volume on his phone, so unfortunately Reid couldn't hear what was being said on the other end. 

“Oh, crap,” Aaron growled. “Understood. Thanks.” 

Hotch tucked his phone away and muttered, “Damn it.” 

Reid waited patiently for an explanation. 

"Bonifant and Sudbrink took Matt Gorsuch into custody at the garage," Hotch growled, kicking the encrusted underside of the vehicle to knock off the accumulation of frozen, dirty slush.

“Goose wasn’t there,” Reid surmised from Hotch’s foul expression. 

“Goose left ten minutes before the cops arrived. Matt said Goose went to get some more coffee, and that he’d be back, but no can locate him. JJ has been circling town like a shark, hoping to spot him." 

“He slipped the net,” Reid remarked. “He knew we were coming for him.”

"It didn't help that JJ pulled up on scene with her sirens and lights going, instead of the silent approach that Bonifant had asked for."

"Sorry," Reid cringed. 

"Sudbrink put out a statewide BOLO for Goose’s old red farm truck, but Gorsuch isn’t stupid. He’ll ditch that truck as soon as he gets the chance,” Hotch growled. “Fuck! Just what we needed! Where the hell are those kids from Bangor?” he growled, facing the end of the driveway expectantly.

“The footage is coming up. Does your phone have GPS? Can you give me a reading, so I can find the appropriate place in the footage to study?” Reid requested, hoping to curtail the flaming red anger which was working its way up Hotch’s collar and under his chin. Hotch turned his phone on, and glared at the screen. 

“Latitude: 45 degrees, 47 minutes, 8 seconds. Longitude: -69 degrees, 48 minutes, 27 seconds,” Hotch reported. 

“Perfect,” Reid warmed up a smile. "Do you hear that?” he asked a second later as he narrowed the footage to the right location. 

“Hear what?” Aaron wondered. Reid put down the laptop and scooted to the edge of the seat. Hotch backed against the door, and Reid delicately placed one big boot down on the icy surface. 

“Helicopter. The kids are here,” Reid pointed upwards. 

A gray and white military helicopter was coming over the trees, getting slower and lower. It was a near-perfect match for the wintery sky, except for the flashing safety lights. The whirring blades were pulling loose flakes up from the ground and off the trees. A slow grin crossed Reid’s face as he watched the pilots put the chopper down a few feet from the driveway in a narrow opening between the trees. 

“Show-offs,” Hotch frowned. Reid didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Ooooh,” Reid pined. "An MH-60R.”

Hotch gave him a funny look. 

"A Sikorsky Seahawk,” Reid added happily. 

Hotch continued to frown. Reid leaned his head towards Hotch and gave a seductive smile as he purred in Aaron's ear.

"Daddy, can I have one?" Spencer asked playfully. 

Hotch's frown deepened. "No," he blurted. "No, you may not." 

Reid straightened up with a quick laugh, patting Aaron's shoulder. 

The side door of the helicopter rolled open, and two uniformed soldiers dropped down to the ground. They slid the door closed behind, and gave a thumbs-up to the pilot and co-pilot through the cockpit windows. The blades stirred to life. The helicopter lifted off once more with a smooth and elegant rush of air and snowy debris. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Pearlman and Hays smiled in unison as she spoke. She tugged off her helmet and hugged a duffel bag closer to her side. “Pop the hatch, sir?” she asked politely. Hotch opened the driver’s door, pulled a latch, and the back of the SUV popped open. Pearlman and Hays strode around, setting down their bags and helmets, and digging inside the duffels. 

“It was easier and faster than driving here,” Hays explained. Hotch’s frown was slowly fading away. Reid watched hungrily as the gray and white metal bird disappeared into the cold sky, headed in the direction of the Bangor airbase. 

“We’d like to start with photographs of the layout and interior of the cabin before we begin our search for evidence,” Hotch commanded, all business. Pearlman grabbed a camera and external flash from the bag. Hays brought a second camera, and followed in her footsteps like a loyal puppy. Hotch realized they had drawn a lucky pair from the pool of soldiers available. As MP clerks in charge of police files for the base, both Pearlman and Hays were very familiar with investigative procedures. 

Hotch started back towards the cabin, being careful not to get trapped in the drifts created by the helicopter’s wind. Pearlman and Hays were proceeding step in step. Reid returned his attention to the laptop, studying the colors and the images of the FLIR and ground penetrating radar footage. 

It wasn’t two minutes later, Hotch saw Reid stumbling down the driveway. He had the laptop clutched to his chest. He was frantic, and panting, excited beyond reason. Hotch headed back out to intercept Reid while Pearlman and Hays continued taking pictures. Aaron actually caught Spencer by the shoulders and prevented him from pitching headfirst into the front of the cabin. Reid was so wound up that he couldn’t get the words out. 

“Can't believe! I missed! This reading!” Spencer babbled, unable to stand still. If not for Hotch’s hands on his shoulders, the doctor would have been rushing back and forth on the snowy path from the driveway to the cabin, like a wind-up doll out of control. 

“Reid!” Hotch exclaimed. Spencer stood on one spot and gaped at him. That stern tone of command reached down inside Reid’s whirling mind and gave him a rope to climb back up out of his maelstrom of thoughts. “Show me what you have, Reid.” 

Spencer thrust the laptop into Hotch’s hands, and walked back and forth, back and forth, spouting words, hands flying back and forth. Hotch held the computer on one arm, put out a set of fingers, and snatched Reid’s elbow. Spencer stopped in his tracks again, held firm in Hotch’s grip. 

“Tell me what I’m looking at, Dr. Reid,” Hotch commanded. Reid turned around and blinked at him, dumbfounded that he should need to explain. Wasn't it perfectly obvious? 

“There’s a collapsed well. This. Do you see?” Reid explained excitedly as he rubbed the screen with one gloved finger. “There’s a mass of material. Under the well. Which does not match the surrounding. Natural geological makeup. HOTCH! We have located our mass grave!” 

“Do we need to call for earth-moving equipment to remove the top of the well?” Hotch wondered. 

“No!” Reid corrected sharply. “I don’t recommend it. This must be handled with the utmost care. Any soil that we disturb. Might corrupt the area below. If the ground is unstable, a heavy earth-mover might collapse the entire yard.”

“How do we get down there?” Hotch said. 

“The old fashioned way,” Reid said seriously. 

“Reid, do you know how long it would take to dig down that far by hand? Don’t answer that! It was a rhetorical question,” Hotch insisted when Spencer took a deep breath. “What’s this? What’s this here?” Hotch asked, giving the computer back to Reid and pointing at the screen. 

“That’s the cabin," Reid said blandly. 

"Under the cabin," Hotch grimaced. 

"A crawlspace. A root cellar for goods which need to be kept cool year-round,” Reid answered. “There would not be enough room to stand up. It can’t be more than four or five feet high.” 

“We’ll search the cabin. We’ll figure out how to get into the crawlspace. Then we’ll figure out how to get down into the well,” Hotch murmured, turning around to look at the interior of the cabin once more. Pearlman and Hays weren’t taking pictures. They were staring at the exchange between Hotch and Reid.

"I'd like to start with the well," Reid protested. 

"Not without the proper equipment," Hotch shuddered at the thought of the well collapsing the rest of the way, and all that dirt and bricks and earth landing on top of Reid. 

“Have either of you spotted a trap door?” Reid asked as he and Hotch approached. 

“Trap door?” Hays questioned. “I don’t know a lot about flooring, but I’d say these boards look pretty solid.” 

“Filthy, but solid,” Pearlman agreed. 

Reid quivered as he stared around. He couldn’t put his finger on why he was so unnerved by this place, other than the fact it was an utter pig sty. The lingering smell of death bothered him, to be sure. Logic wanted to convince him that a forest creature had found its way inside to die. The question was where the unfortunate furry was holed up, decaying away. Reid wanted to believe it was an animal, but his experience with crime scenes told him that there was a distinct smell to dead humans, and that was what was teasing his nose. 

This cabin raised so many different red flags for Spencer. It was situated alone at the far end of a one-lane road, encased by trees and undergrowth except for the sixty by sixty patch that served as the front yard and an identical one that served as the back yard. This cabin could not have been more desolate. If you did not know it was here, you would never have been able to find it by chance. He and Hotch had passed other driveways before finding this one. They had been twisting pathways leading off the highway towards other isolated cabins. The nearest residence was more than a full mile away. 

“Finish the photos first,” Hotch insisted. “Once we’re done with the cabin, we’ll find the trap door to the crawlspace. In the meantime, I'll coordinate with the state troopers and the FBI office in Boston. They cover this area.”

“I think we should start digging down into the well area first,” Reid disagreed. 

“The cabin first,” Hotch insisted. 

"Yes, sir," Reid agreed reluctantly. He hugged his satchel and paced. This could be a long wait.


	44. The Drawer

44 - The Drawer 

 

It took forty-five minutes for Pearlman and Hays to record the entire space of the cabin from top to bottom, left to right, front to back, and every other conceivable direction. They might have taken more time, but Reid was ready to explode with impatience. Hotch almost had to sit on him to keep him from hurrying inside. 

Reid had been pacing back and forth along the front of the cabin, staring through the filthy front windows like a vengeful forest sprite. When Aaron was ready to let him in the front door once more, Spencer hurried over, stood in front of him, and made an angry face. 

“Watch where you step, and what you touch,” Hotch cautioned. 

“Because I’ve never done this before?” Reid muttered low. 

“No. Because you’re excited, and I don’t want you to move anything unnecessarily if you don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to move anything. I know where the trap door is already,” Reid boasted. 

“Oh? You solved the riddle from the outside?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you need us to move the furniture?” 

“No.” 

“Where is it?” Hotch said. “Show me.” 

Instead of heading inside the cabin, Reid grabbed Hotch by one arm and frog-marched him to the far end of the exterior of the cabin. Pearlman and Hays came outside, adjusting their cameras, putting away equipment into their various pockets. Reid was counting the steps back to the door. Hotch followed along obediently. Reid and Hotch passed the two soldiers at the doorway, and continued to the other end of the front exterior.

“Twenty and a half feet,” Hotch finished. Reid raced him back to the front door, and cautiously stepped inside the grim dwelling. He walked three feet in, and raced to the far wall, standing next to the derelict fireplace hearth which was flanked by a gray mattress on a wooden bed frame attached to both walls. A tattered rag of a quilt was huddled in a ball in the darkest shadow in the corner. Hotch remained in the doorway as Reid walked straight through the middle of the dwelling, around the folding chairs and the rickety table. He stopped at the kitchen sink, and shivered when he saw the food-smeared, rudimentary stove to the right. 

“It’s barely seventeen feet across,” Reid reported.

“It’s not a trap door in the floor at all,” Hotch decided. 

“One of these walls has a concealed passage,” Reid replied. 

Reid left his space at the kitchen sink, and walked over to the nearest folding chair. He turned it around and sat down, knees tight together, gazing back and forth between one far wall and the other. He gazed at Hotch for an opinion because he could not decide between the two walls.

“My money is on the wall by the bed,” Hotch replied to the unasked question. “The bed would be easier to move than the kitchen sink would be,” Aaron added. 

Reid agreed, and bounced to his feet again. Pearlman and Hays watched through the window that faced the kitchen area. Reid walked cautiously over to the mattress and wondered where he would get the best grip. He’d like to pull the crude frame away from the wall, but he was having visions of roaches and bed bugs and silverfish and any manner of gross pests that might be clamoring around underneath. Maybe that's where all the spiders were hiding! Maybe inside that small box of tiny sticks and fireplace matches. 

“I don’t think it’s behind the bed,” Reid commented to Hotch. 

“Why not?” Hotch called back. 

“The frame is nailed to both walls,” Reid reported glumly. He sat down on the floor in front of the hearth, and closed his eyes. 

“Reid?” Hotch called out a second later. “What are you doing?” 

“Close the door,” Spencer answered. 

“What?” 

“Shut the damn door,” Reid snapped, looking back over one shoulder. His angry eyes shot to Hotch, then drifted abruptly sideways. Reid turned around where he was sitting. A second later, he was up on his knees. A second more, and he was on his feet, rushing towards the kitchen area. Reid went past the table, and sat down on the floor to the left of the sink, a foot from the fridge, staring up at the cabinets and the drawers. He put a hand back against the grill at the bottom of the fridge. The loud humming noise stopped. 

“Is he always like this?” Hays asked Hotch softly. Hotch bit back the two words that popped up on his tongue. ‘Sometimes worse’, he thought to himself.

“Why don’t you two run through your pictures on the laptop? Give us a quick analysis?” Hotch suggested. Pearlman nodded in reply, casting another concerned look inside at Reid before pulling Hays back towards the SUV. 

“What is it?” Hotch called out towards Reid. 

“There’s a draft by the hearth. Do you think the flue is open?” Reid asked. He was hypnotized by the drawer face, and continued to hold the icebox grill firmly in place. 

“The flue is closed,” Hotch reported, peering up into the fireplace and back at Reid. “What the hell are you looking at over there?” 

“Can you feel the draft too?” Reid asked, sitting back up. 

“Yes. But I’m not sure what that has to do with a trap door or a passage.”

“Be careful around the fireplace,” Reid warned. Hotch immediately took a step back off the red and white bricks. 

“Why?” he called out. 

“Because one of those stones must be a lever which will open the passage to the crawlspace.”

“Reid? If we’re trying to open the crawlspace, why are you in the kitchen?” Hotch wanted to know. Reid bent down and sideways again, staring at the underside of the handle of the drawer. Hotch recognized that look. “What do you have, Reid?" he demanded. 

“I need more light,” Reid complained. Hotch was at his back in an instant, small flashlight in hand. Reid let go of the grill on the fridge, and it gleefully resumed its evil humming. Hotch and Reid leaned down in unison, and Hotch shined his light at the bottom of the door handle. 

Partial fingerprints! 

Hotch blinked and refocused the beams, believing he must have imagined what he thought he saw. But he hadn’t. A second glance revealed the same as the first -- there were bloody smears on the underneath of the handle. He could make out what he thought might be a middle finger partial and an index finger partial on the drawer pull. Hotch and Reid sat up and stared at each other over Reid’s right shoulder. Neither could believe their good fortune. 

“Crawlspace or fingerprints?” Reid asked, reaching out to push the icebox grill into place again. 

“I’ll take the crawlspace. You take the prints,” Hotch commanded. "Reid, let go of the fridge." 

"I can't think. It's so loud. Can we take off the grill?" 

"No." 

"It's vibrating." 

"Reid, let go." 

"It's vibrating." 

Hotch plucked Reid's hand free. The annoying humming resumed. Reid narrowed his eyes at Hotch, and put a hand back to the grill. Pearlman and Hays returned to the doorway.

"Do you have any tape?" Reid winced. Hays rolled a circle of masking tape towards him. "Thanks," Spencer beamed. He quickly ripped off a couple small pieces of tape, and fastened them to the grill on the fridge. The humming finally stopped. Reid sighed with relief. 

Hotch walked back and forth in front of the fireplace, studying the mottled red and white, uneven bricks for handprints, fingerprints, blood evidence, or signs of wear and tear. Meanwhile, he was on the phone with the FBI Office in Boston, negotiating for earth-moving equipment. Reid borrowed a fingerprint kit from Pearlman and Hays. The MPs left one of the cameras inside the vehicle, hooked up to the computer, allowing the pictures to download. Inside the cabin, they were assisting Reid with dusting down the cabinet doors, looking for more fingerprints. 

“We'll see you up here in the morning, Agent Stowe. Thank you for your help,” Hotch replied before hanging up the phone. 

Pearlman and Hays had set up temporary lights on tall tripods to take photographs of the area, and now they focused those lights to better aid Reid in the fingerprint search. Reid was utterly focused on the cabinets. When the painful bright lights were turned on, dozens of nasty nicks and dents marked and scored the filthy butcher-block counters. The rays sank into the dirty wood, but they bounced off a shiny, gleaming cleaver which was imbedded in the counter, hidden back in the corner by a rusty metal breadbox. 

“Did you get a picture of this already?” Reid asked. 

"Yes, sir. We covered the entire area," Hays nodded. Spencer hesitated for a moment before he used a glove-covered hand to tug the cleaver from the counter. Hays held up an evidence bag, and Reid slipped the cleaver inside. Hays folded up the brown bag and put it inside a bigger brown bag. 

“How do you want to do the prints on the handle?” Pearlman asked. Reid gazed at the handle from above. Light was bouncing off the silver bar. Reid's nose was practically touching it for a second or two. He sat back on his haunches and thought about the problem. 

“Attempting to remove the prints from our side could damage them, and could compromise any identifying ridge detail which might remain. But if we remove the handle from the drawer, we can submit it to the state crime lab as is,” Reid decided. 

“I agree,” Hotch called from the other side of the cabin. 

Reid stood up and slid a gloved finger along either side of the large drawer, pulling from the edges instead of from the handle. He expected to find an odd assortment of silverware. In the reflective surface of the window above the sink, he saw Pearlman and Hays both blanch white as their mouths dropped open. His own reaction was no less dramatic. They all three took a collective step back, and inhaled in unison.

The drawer was filled with stunning variety of knives. Straight blades. Serrated blades. Jagged blades. Bread knives. Hunting knives. Filleting knives. Multi-purpose slicers. Paring blades. Carving blades. Cleavers in assorted sizes. As filthy and grimy as the rest of the cabin was, this drawer and its contents were spotless. Tidy. Well-maintained. Spencer’s profiler senses prickled. He may have even meeped. 

“Hotch?” Reid whispered. 

Hays sprinted out of the cabin. He sat down in the snow, and panted for breath. It was clear from his expression that he was going to have to be bribed or coaxed before he would reenter the cabin. Pearlman, on the other hand, was right up against Reid’s back, staring down into the drawer. She was excited, but tempered her emotions with cautious realism. 

“I know how this looks, but remember where we are. Gorsuch is a huntsman. There are any number of reasonable explanations for a well-stocked drawer of cutlery,” Pearlman offered. Reid stared at her skeptically. 

“Two-for-one special at Blades-R-Us?” Hotch commented wryly from Reid’s other side. 

“Someone living in a cabin in the woods might need a variety of blades to be able to skin, clean, and prepare wildlife and game for cooking and eating,” Pearlman said reasonably. Reid had yet to utter another words beyond Hotch’s name. He looked to Hotch to respond to Pearlman's comment.

“I know where you’re going. If this is a human fingerprint in animal blood, it's nothing remarkable?” Hotch asked.

“No, sir, it's not,” Pearlman answered. 

“But if the fingerprint is in human blood, we can all get excited."

"Yes, sir," Pearlman agreed. "Well, no. Not if the blood belongs to the person who made the fingerprint. He could have pricked himself with one of the blades while preparing game."

"But if the blood matches one of our missing women?" 

"Then we can all get excited," Pearlman agreed. 

"Reid, bag everything. We’ll test it at the state lab,” Hotch ordered. “Can you take off the handle without touching the contents of the drawer?” Hotch asked Reid. Spencer nodded meekly. “Pearlman, hold the drawer steady for him, from the outside.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Reid?” 

“Yes, sir?” Spencer whispered.

“Do all the drawers the same way. Catalogue and remove the contents, then remove the handles. Bag all of it for the state crime labs.”

“Yes, sir,” Reid answered.


	45. Person of Interest

45 - Person of Interest

 

“Matt, I’m so sorry about all this,” Chief Sudbrink said. The younger Gorsuch was sitting in the interrogation room at the Greenville Police Station, unsure what to do with his greasy hands. He set them on the table. He took them off the table. He crossed his arms over his chest, and squirmed in his seat. Then he put his hands back on the table. 

“How long have you known me, Chief? Since forever?” Matt asked. "Do you really think we're involved in this?" 

“These questions are a formality, Matt." 

“A formality, eh? I don't know about that. It’s feeling pretty serious from this side of the table.”

“Tell me what you remember about Miranda Horn, the night you towed her car for her.”

“I had no idea we even towed Miranda Horn’s car until you said so. Jesus Christ, Jack. It was years ago. I couldn’t even drive then. I was a freshman in high school.”

“You don’t remember her at all?” Sudbrink winced. 

“No.”

“How do you and Goose decide who takes which call?”

“It’s random, mostly. Sometimes he goes. Sometimes I go. Sometimes if we’re bored, we’ll both go. If he's gone to Bangor to see a movie, I mind the shop. If I've got plans, he minds the shop. Nothing sinister about that. I know where you’re going, but there’s no way Goose is responsible for that Miranda girl going missing. Any of them other women either, for that matter. He wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

“I believe you, Matt.” 

“If you believe me, why are you treating me like a criminal?” 

“I need your help to prove you didn’t do this, so we can find the real murderer,” Sudbrink replied. 

“It’s the Feds, isn’t it? They’re the ones who put you up to this. They have to pin this on someone, and soon, or they’ll all look like idiots. I watch TV. I know how it works. That skinny guy thought he saw a name on the receipts in my truck the other night. So the Feds think we kidnapped those girls? It’s some big abduction theory? You gotta talk to those idiots, Chief. You know me. You know Goose. We didn’t do nothing to nobody,” Matt pleaded. 

“I believe you, Matt. You help me, and we’ll get this over with as soon as possible. Do you have any idea where Goose would have gone?” 

“He told me he going out for coffee,” Matt shrugged. 

“Is that unusual?” 

“No, he does it every morning. He’ll go down to the diner, get himself an omelet. Maybe some pancakes. He’ll shoot the breeze with Bill and Marla for a couple minutes. Then he’ll bring me back breakfast and coffee.”

“We checked the diner. He isn’t there,” Dr. Lind answered from the doorway. 

“Could he have gone somewhere else?” Sudbrink asked Matt desperately.

“Maybe to visit Aunt Mary?” Matt suggested. 

“We checked the cemetery already too,” Dr. Lind added, shaking her head. 

“Would he go to his cabin?” Sudbrink asked. 

“He might if it was nice weather,” Matt nodded. “But not in this crap. Not with a car in the shop to work on.” 

“He’s not at the Gorsuch cabin,” Torg murmured to Dr. Lind. “I just got back from there." 

“Would Goose go to Mary’s cabin?” Sudbrink asked Matt. 

“He hardly ever goes there since Aunt Mary drowned. Too many memories,” Matt defended. 

“Goose wouldn’t go off in the woods and harm himself, would he?” Sudbrink worried. 

“Chief, he's Catholic. Suicide is a sin. God would be mad, but Aunt Mary would be furious,” Matt chided. 

“When Goose left, did he have any weapons with him?” 

“He doesn’t take a gun to get a cup of coffee,” Matt frowned. 

“Does he carry a gun in the truck? He was quite the hunter back in the day.” 

“He’s not much for guns since my dad’s death.”

“Yeah, I understand that,” Sudbrink agreed sympathetically.

“It tore him up, losing Dad and losing Aunt Mary too. He hasn’t been the same since.” 

“Is he more of a knife man?” Dr. Lind wondered, not without a hint of malice.

Matt nodded. “He’s got a favorite blade or two.”

“Would he have those with him?” Sudbrink worried. 

“No. He leaves them at home unless we’re going fishing. Might have a knife in the truck under the seat, but that’s for protection.” 

“Matt, can I ask you a few more questions? Are you sure you want to proceed without your lawyer?” Sudbrink asked. 

“Do I need a lawyer? You said I wasn’t under arrest, and that I’m not in trouble.”

“You are not under arrest. You are free to leave, but I hope you'll stay. I really need your help to clear you and Goose both. Matt, you are free to stop answering questions at any time. You can ask for a lawyer at any time too, if you want one,” Sudbrink insisted. 

“Shit, Chief. You're scaring me. Do I need a lawyer?” Matt asked again. Dr. Lind cleared her throat, and handed her cell phone to Chief Sudbrink. 

“Stop pussyfooting around, Chief Sudbrink. If you’re going to continue to question Mr. Gorsuch, you need to read him his full Miranda. Make sure he consents in writing to continue the interview without his attorney, or give him the opportunity to summon his attorney before you ask him any further questions,” Dr. Lind warned. 

“That’s not how we do things,” Sudbrink answered, eyes dark, voice harsh. "Matt is not under arrest."

“I understand that you’re all friends here, but this is a federal investigation. I'm covering our asses. I don’t want there to be any judicial misunderstanding about whether or not a criminal suspect understood his rights before he gave his statement. I don’t want some over-eager civil rights judge to toss Matt’s statements on the grounds that the suspect wasn’t read his Miranda rights," Dr. Lind insisted. 

“Suspect?!” Matt’s voice rose higher.

“Young man, listen to me,” Dr. Lind said sternly. “You're not stupid. I'm not going to talk down to you. I'm not going to lie to you. I don’t know how else to say this but plainly. You are a person of interest in a federal murder investigation. You and your uncle both are suspects.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Matt exclaimed. 

“Matt, call your lawyer,” Sudbrink said, giving him the phone. 

“I don’t have a lawyer,” Matt frowned. “I could call Ralph.”

“Ralph does your taxes. He’s an accountant. He’s not a lawyer,” Sudbrink said. 

“He took a year of law at the University. I’ll give him a call," Matt said. 

“Chief!" Dr. Lind interrupted again. "Please get Mr. Gorsuch a public defender. Do not question him further until the attorney has arrived.”

“Maine doesn't have public defenders. The court clerk assigns a private attorney. That's going to take some time," Sudbrink remarked tempestuously. 

“Fine. That’s fine. Do what you have to do. But you do not question him any further without a lawyer present,” Dr. Lind decided. "I want to protect Mr. Gorsuch as much as I want to protect us." 

“Why would you help me?” Matt asked. “You all are the reason I’m under suspicion, aren’t you?” 

“Young man, the truth of it is, I believe you’re innocent too. I believe you haven't got a damned clue what's been going on. I am helping you because I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life in jail. I don’t want to see an innocent man paying the price while a guilty man goes free.”

"You're wrong about Goose," Matt defended. "He'd never hurt anyone." 

"Hang tight, Matt. I'm going to go call Sally at the court house," Sudbrink promised.


	46. Twilight

46 - Twilight

 

It was early evening, and twilight was beginning to fall. So was the predicted snow. Reid paused in his task, glancing towards the grime-streaked front window. The snow was peaceful, but the shadows and the trees outside were closing around the cabin, amplified by the way the glass reflected the interior of the dwelling back at them. Reid bagged the last dangerous, shiny instrument from the last drawer by the sink, and turned to watch Hotch. 

Aaron had been contemplating the fireplace hearth off and on for quite a long time. He had grown bored testing bricks to find the right one to trip the trap door or trick wall. He had crossed the room to help Reid, Pearlman, and Hays collect the contents of the drawers and the drawer handles themselves into evidence bags. Once that task was nearing its end though, Hotch had returned to the fireplace. He was sitting on the floor, staring at the hearth, hands resting on the ground back to either side. Spencer could tell from Hotch’s reflection on the far window that Aaron was frowning at the bricks. Pearlman and Hays gathered up the last few bags to carry out to the SUV in the driveway. Hays was yawning as he went. Pearlman watched the back of Hotch’s head on the way out the door. 

Reid crossed the room, standing behind Hotch, gazing at the silent hearth as well. A hush had fallen when the other two people departed. In the quiet, Reid thought that he could detect the faintest sound of the rush of wind. He knelt down beside Hotch, keeping quiet and still for a few seconds. He pulled off his rubber glove, and held a hand forward. Hotch pulled the hand down out of his way. 

“There’s a draft. I know. You interrupted my train of thought,” Hotch muttered, frowning. 

“There is a draft. But from where?” Reid shook his head, understanding Hotch’s frustration. 

“If the draft is coming up through the crawlspace and then through the hearth, that would mean there has to be a source of moving air in the crawlspace, yes?” Hotch whispered.

“Yes,” Reid agreed in a hushed tone. 

“If there is a passage which leads from the collapsed well to the crawlspace to the hearth, and the bodies are in the collapsed well, that would explain the horrible smell in the cabin. The exterior of the building is surrounded by snow drifts, meaning it can’t be from the foundation of the cabin being unstable or cracked, allowing moving wind inside.”

“Right,” Reid agreed again. 

“The flue is closed, so the wind is not coming down the chimney.” 

“No.”

“It’s coming up, from the crawlspace, through the hearth.”

“Yes. It has to be.” 

“None of these bricks move,” Hotch insisted. “I’ve tried them all.” 

Handprints and fingerprints backed up that claim, Reid could see. Hotch had systematically pushed every last red and white mottled surface that he could have touched, all for naught. As Reid watched the hearth, he could see small, faint swirls of ash dance back and forth on the center stone. Miniature gray whorls moved beneath and around the metal andirons. It had been some time since the hearth had been aflame with light and warmth. 

“You could always start a fire without opening the flue, and see which way the smoke drifts,” Reid murmured, glancing sideways. Hotch glanced back at him, blinking. A deep frown formed. 

“We might destroy evidence if we start a fire.”

“It’s the best way to find out where the draft is coming from,” Reid shrugged.

“Where are you going?” Hotch asked as Reid got up and stretched. 

“Bathroom next,” Reid replied, pointing towards the first doorway between the kitchen and the sleeping space. There was a second doorway, smaller and taller, which they assumed must be a closet or a pantry, given its close proximity to the kitchen area. 

“You can’t…I mean…” 

“Not like that,” Reid answered. “Although if we are here much longer, we all will need such a break. Pearlman and Hays look tired,” he commented as he peered back at the SUV. Hays was slouched in the rear passenger seat. He sank sideways and disappeared. He must have been lying down. Pearlman was stacking the evidence bags in the rear compartment, hoping to find room for the last two which were sitting at her feet on the snowy driveway. 

“I’m going to call the station,” Hotch said. “We’ll seal the place up for the night. Continue the evidence search in the morning. You can spend the night figuring out a way to get down into that well without having the ground collapse down on top of whatever is in there.”

Reid stared at the fireplace, then down at the floorboards. 

“We cannot leave the residence unguarded."

"I know." 

"The crawlspace is connected to the well,” Reid said. “It has to be.” 

“Wouldn’t that show up on the ground penetrating radar?” 

“It should, yes.” 

“Megan Tremblay had to climb out of the well, up through the ground. If there had been a tunnel, wouldn’t she have come through the tunnel, up into the cabin through the crawlspace, and have left by that route?” Hotch wondered. 

“Maybe it’s not a tunnel, but a smaller passage, one too tiny to stand up in, but one which allows air to pass through.”

“What would be the point of that?” Hotch wondered. Reid shrugged both shoulders. 

“We’ll have to dig the well out by hand. It’s going to take a lot of manpower."

"Agent Stowe and her team from Boston will be here tomorrow morning." 

"We’ll have to support the sides of the hole while we’re down inside, to keep it from collapsing,” Reid answered. “Any word yet from Sudbrink about Goose Gorsuch’s whereabouts?” 

“No. None. JJ was driving all over town until they made her stop.” 

“It’s unlikely we will find him until he decides to risk showing himself. He knows this area, these woods, far better than any of us,” Reid lamented. 

“Hopefully Matt knows where he might have gone,” Hotch sighed. 

“Hopefully Matt will talk,” Reid commented. 

“How far is the distance between the cabin and the well structure on the map, do you think?” Hotch asked. Reid pondered for a moment before answering. He was going over the footage in his mind, Aaron knew. 

“It is approximately one hundred yards between the cabin and the water’s edge. The well structure is twenty yards from the back of the cabin. There’s a small rise behind the cabin, and then the ground declines as it moves towards the water. The shore is rocky,” Reid motioned with a hand. He was staring in to the hideous yellow bathroom. "We need luminol,” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” Hotch agreed. 

“You know what this cabin is missing?” Reid remarked.

“Any number of things,” Hotch smiled. 

“A back door.”

“Why is that important?” 

“You’re not going to walk all the way around the cabin every time you come inside, go outside, are you? Where’s the back door?” Reid wondered. He opened the smaller, taller door, and as expected, found a pantry. The shelves were lined with old newspaper, stuffed with old boxes, and layers of dust which made him catch his breath and recoil back. 

“Not a back door,” Hotch decided, peering over Reid’s shoulder into the pantry.

“I’m going to walk around the outside perimeter,” Reid decided.

“Let’s take a break. We’ll contact Sudbrink. Take the kids back to the base for the night. Coordinate a team to come back at first light and start again,” Hotch persuaded. 

“You go. I’ll stay.”

“Are you kidding me?” Hotch growled, brow furrowing. 

“We cannot leave the sight unprotected overnight.”

“You can’t stay here alone.” 

“Take Pearlman and Hays back to Bangor, drop the evidence in Greenville, and come back for me,” Reid shrugged. 

“You can’t stay here alone.” 

“Do you have a better idea?” 

“We call for backup, and we let them stay for the night.”

“Like who? Janeen and Joy are alone at the police station. All the other teams have spread out to conduct searches at the other relevant locations,” Reid reminded Hotch. 

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Hotch shook his head. 

“Give Pearlman the keys, and let her and Hays take the evidence back. We’ll radio back to Greenville, let them know our intentions, that we’re staying the night here to protect the scene,” Reid shrugged. 

Hotch turned while shouting, “PEARLMAN!” 

“Yes, sir,” the staff sergeant answered from the doorway. She was wearing a faint smile. “I heard Dr. Reid. Good plan.”

“Carry on then. Take the evidence to Greenville. Head back to Bangor for the night. Be careful on the roads,” Hotch said, tossing Pearlman the keys. 

“You’re going to call for backup, aren’t you?” she asked. 

Hotch pulled out his phone and started to dial. Reid followed Pearlman to the vehicle. Hays was indeed asleep in the backseat. 

“You sure you’ll be all right here?” Pearlman asked as Reid retrieved his satchel from the floorboard. 

“We’ll be fine,” Reid nodded. "Do you have a luminol kit?”

“Yes, sir,” Pearlman replied, handing him another bag out of her duffel. She also handed him a camera. “You two be careful, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine,” Reid smiled. 

"If I had been dragging women here to kill them, and I thought the police were searching for me and evidence of my crimes, I would make a beeline for this place, and burn it to the ground," Pearlman said. 

"Yes. I was thinking the same thing. So was Hotch, because he won't let me stay here alone." 

"Cane?” she said, digging the implement out from between the seats and handing it to him. 

“Yes, thank you,” Reid nodded. Pearlman got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. 

“You two be careful. We'll see you in the morning,” Pearlman promised. 

“Drive safely,” Reid answered fondly.


	47. On Our Own

47 - On Our Own

 

“Do you think it is dark enough yet?” Reid asked softly in the muffled quiet.

“Yes,” Hotch replied. 

“…um….” Reid shifted back and forth on his feet, staring at the floor. 

“What?” Hotch asked.

Reid went to the pantry and opened the door. “You know what’s driving me crazy? In particular?” 

“No,” Hotch smiled carefully. 

“There should be a back door to this cabin,” Reid insisted. 

“You mentioned that before,” Hotch shook his head. “I meant to tell you about the bathroom.” 

“What about the bathroom?” 

Hotch went to the front door, stood against the portal, and pointed straight ahead. 

“I believe they closed in the back door to put a bathroom on the cabin. The bathroom is where the rear exit used to be. There used to be an outhouse instead of a bathroom.” 

Reid came over to stand by Hotch, pondering this possibility.

“Do you think the cabin has been enlarged?” Spencer asked. 

“At least twice,” Hotch answered. He stepped over into the bedroom area. “This room represents the original dimensions – a bedroom, a hearth. It may have started as a rudimentary cabin centuries ago.” 

“How do you know?” Reid asked. 

Hotch went to the space where the dining room set sat. He walked back and forth several times. Each time he crossed a certain board, it squeaked. Hotch stopped in the dining space next, pointing upward at the ceiling, where he shined a light across the crease in the wood. 

“The first addition would have been a kitchen and a back porch, up to about that point there.” 

“How do you know that?” Reid wondered. 

“Look at the flow of the floor. It tilts downward towards the bathroom and the kitchen. They couldn’t get the frame to match exactly, although they were pretty close. Look at the difference in wood between the two portions of the cabin as well.” 

Hotch stepped into the kitchen next.

“The last renovation was the addition of a bigger kitchen area. The former kitchen was made into the dining area. They added walls to the back porch, and made it an indoor bathroom,” Hotch decided. 

Reid walked back and forth, testing the squeaky boards for himself, and the pitch in the floor as well. 

“While I do find your architectural analysis of the structure deeply fascinating, I really must step out for a moment,” he stammered.

“Where are you going?” 

“Outside.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Reid froze in his tracks.

“No, you won’t.”

“I’m not letting you go out there alone. Why do you need to go outside?” Hotch demanded. Reid gave him a plain, impatient stare. “Oh,” Aaron murmured. 

“You are not going to watch me pee,” Reid glared at Hotch. Aaron chuckled. 

“Spencer, I’ve seen you screaming, crying, bleeding, howling, coming…. ”

“You’re not watching me pee.” 

“I’ve watched you touching yourself while sucking me off. Do you really think watching you pee would be that shocking?” Hotch laughed. He couldn’t help it. The disgruntled expression on Reid’s face was utterly priceless.

“This is different.”

“How is that different?”

“This is private,” Reid blushed. 

“What about if I stand at the door, and shield my eyes? You scream if you need help. Will that suit you?” 

“Pervert,” Reid huffed. “Besides that, I would like to reconnoiter the outside of the cabin.” 

“Okay,” Hotch agreed, still chortling to himself as Reid opened the cabin door and strode off angrily into the falling snow. “Your modesty is adorable!” Hotch called after Reid, watching Spencer disappear towards the perimeter of the cabin. 

Reid stumbled through the snow, wincing as it went up his trouser legs. He should really tuck those into the boots. He clopped along the front wall, past the window that showed the fireplace and hearth. Once he reached the corner, he was standing next to the generator. They had been correct before in noting that it was a newer model, and had been replaced within the last two years. The question puzzled him -- why would Goose buy a new generator for a rundown cabin? Perhaps the cabin’s outward state of disrepair was meant to convey the illusion that it was rarely used. 

Reid wished he had put his coat back on before trudging out here. He could see the perimeter of trees which surrounded the clearing around the cabin. In the moonlight and starlight, the echo of the place where the helicopter had landed was visible in the middle of the clearing. He thought he might have seen headlights moving slowly along the road in the distance. He had a horrible thought. Was it Ensign James or Captain Spaulding following him tonight? He didn’t see either of them, but knew that one of them must be nearby. 

Reid almost tripped over an unexpected barrier in between two trees at the perimeter. The obstacle was more of a barrel shape than an actual barrel. It was a rusted-out circle collapsed down onto another circle, with two or three, jagged, side walls of rusted metal sticking up out of the snow. Reid smelled smoke as he stood over the remains of the barrel. As the stench filled his nostrils, Reid fought away the concern that if Goose was their killer, and he had chosen to burn his victims instead of bury them, then their search for human remains or hairs and fibers was about to get so much more complicated. He made a mental note that tomorrow they needed to shift through these ashes for any potential clues. 

There was a square mound in the snow next to the wrecked barrel. Reid wondered if the square was a fire-pit. Perhaps the ash in the barrel had come from the fire-pit. They would need to cover the fire-pit in their forensics search as well. Was the adjacent triangular pile a cord of wood next to the presumed fire-pit? Reid certainly hoped so. It would be necessary to light at least a small fire in the hearth if Reid and Hotch were going to stay here at the cabin tonight to guard the scene and any potential evidence. They were not going to be able to rely on body heat alone to keep them warm. 

Reid glanced back towards the cabin. Hotch was visible in the doorway. There was a slender pillar of light shining across the snow. Why was Hotch gazing outside with a flashlight turned on? The thin beam crossed Reid’s chest, bounced in his eyes. Aaron waved at Reid mischievously. Reid moved around the far side of the tree, making sure he was in total darkness. He blew on his ice cold fingers, and did his business as quickly as possible. He frowned to himself the whole while, because Aaron’s flashlight beam was moving around near him. Reid kept staring at the decrepit barrel, the fire-pit, and the lump he thought must be a cord of wood. He should carry some of the wood back to the cabin. He hoped they didn’t have to stay out here the entire night alone. He was actually getting hungry. Did he have any granola bars in his satchel? He and Hotch could always call for delivery. Did anyone deliver this far out in the woods? 

Reid heard the faint strains of a cell phone ringing. Hotch’s flashlight beam stopped roaming around. Aaron returned inside the cabin. Reid refitted his trousers, and picked up a snowball, rubbing his hands briskly and thoroughly. That would have to do until he could get the antibacterial handy-wipes out of his satchel. He was shivering now, shaking bits of snow out of his long sleeves. His hands felt like gnarled, frozen sticks. A rustling above him in the tree drew his eyes skyward. In the glow of the moon and the stars, two yellow eyes appeared in the side of the tree. Reid could just make out the hint of gray and white plumage, someone’s puffed chest and horned head. 

Megascops asio. Eastern screech owl. This specimen was approximately ten inches tall and rather portly. Spencer felt terrible for disturbing the creature. 

“Sorry,” Reid called out faintly. The owl closed its eyes and nestled back down into its fluffed feathers. It literally vanished back into the hole from which it had peered, becoming virtually indistinguishable from its habitat tree. 

Reid stopped by the barrel, using his hands to brush snow off of the square mound. It was indeed a brick fire-pit, about two feet deep. He again added this to his mental list of things that would need to be searched for evidence. The lumpy mound next to the fire-pit was a fresh cord of wood. Reid retrieved two small wedges of split wood to carry back to the cabin. He was almost there when Hotch popped outside to greet him. 

“That was Chief Sudbrink on the phone,” Hotch reported. 

“Is he sending backup to secure our site for the night?” Reid whispered. He gave Hotch the two wedges of split log. Aaron carried them inside. 

“Um…” Hotch hedged. He knelt down by the fireplace and set the logs on the andirons. 

“He’s not sending anyone?” Reid questioned, making a beeline for his satchel and hunting for the handy-wipes and granola bars. He found the handy-wipes, but no food, except for a few breath mints. 

“Everyone else is busy, either at the other sites, or at the roadblocks. We’re on our own, I’m afraid,” Hotch relayed. Reid gave a dramatic, disappointed sigh. “It’s only one night,” Hotch soothed. 

“But I don’t want to stay in the middle of nowhere in a dirty hovel that smells like death,” Reid whined.

“It’s only one night,” Hotch soothed again. Feeling ashamed, Reid shut up. There wasn’t much Hotch could do about the situation, and there was no point in complaining like a pampered diva. Reid didn’t want to make Hotch feel bad, except that Spencer was irritated down deep because he knew that under the proper circumstances, this kind of scenario would have been right up Hotch’s alley. Being stranded with Reid in the wilderness. Having to make do on their own without any help. 

Reid watched Hotch making a fire on the hearth. Aaron moved in fluid, practiced steps, like he had done it a thousand times before. It was one of those tasks that some men could do with ease and precision, as if the instructions were tattooed on their DNA, stuck in their subconscious, and as much a part of their masculine nature as, well, pissing in the woods. Reid would be the first to admit he was jealous of how easily Aaron adapted to wild conditions. Watching Aaron go about making the fire made Reid feel inadequate as a male. It was obvious that Hotch had built hundreds of fires over the years while camping with Haley’s father. Aaron popped open the flue, used small sticks and long matches he had found next to the hearth, tucked in the small box under the foot of the bed. He struck one of the long matches against the hearth, lit the small sticks, and tiny flames winked into being. They licked slowly and steadily at the kindling before going for the logs themselves. 

“You picked up the logs that were on top?” Hotch asked. Reid nodded. “Next time go for the ones in the middle. They’ll be drier.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time we’re stranded in the wilderness. Any news on Goose Gorsuch yet?” Reid whispered, happy to see the delicate glow beginning. The smile that bloomed on Hotch’s face showed how proud he was. 

“Come over here and get warm,” Hotch said, reaching out a hand. 

“Could Goose be headed into Canada?” Spencer wondered. He was grateful to nestle close against Aaron’s side. 

“If he does, they’ll catch him. The state border and the international border are both covered. Every county within a stone’s throw has manned roadblocks searching all the cars that pass through. There’s no way Goose is going to slip by unnoticed,” Hotch insisted. Reid leaned against Hotch’s warmth. 

“What about….” Reid started to ask when Hotch’s phone rang again. Aaron put it to his ear.

“This is Agent Hotchner. Oh. Oh no,” Hotch frowned glumly. His face got more and more serious as the call continued. He ended the call with a deep sigh. “Right. We’ll be on alert. Keep us posted if you have any news.” 

Reid waited. 

Hotch put the phone in his jacket pocket and muttered, “Fuck.” 

“Yes?” Reid waited some more. 

“State troopers found Goose’s old farm truck abandoned on Highway Six, headed east towards Bangor. There was no sign of Goose,” Hotch rumbled. “On the positive side, they can now beginning processing his truck for trace evidence.” 

“He will not stay on foot for long in this weather. He will commandeer a vehicle,” Reid rambled unhappily. 

Hotch’s only reply was a tiny humorless chuckle. “Two points for man in tweed.” 

“He already did?” Reid asked as he watched Hotch poke the nascent flames with a small, thin stick. 

“The pizza parlor where Dirk Morrow works called Janeen at the police station. Her son hasn’t returned from a delivery he was supposed to make an hour ago. Sudbrink is afraid that Goose kidnapped Dirk and took his car. Janeen raced out of the police station in search of her son. Joy is holding down the fort. It’s mass chaos down there.”

“That poor kid,” Reid murmured, shaking his head. 

Hotch hugged Reid closer to the warmth. 

“You do realize that although Goose’s truck was found pointed east towards Bangor, it is highly unlikely he would head in that direction,” Spencer added quietly. 

“I know. As a precaution, state troopers have been dispatched to the airports and the bus station.” 

“It is far more likely that Mr. Gorsuch is headed here, to this cabin,” Reid felt it necessary to point out. “He draws comfort from coming here. It is where he feels closest to Mary.”

“I know,” Hotch nodded. “I didn’t want to say the words. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“She is the key to our mystery, the key to what’s going on inside Goose’s head,” Reid murmured. “You are carrying your weapon. Do you have your second one with you?” he asked, glancing at Hotch’s left ankle. 

“My second gun is in my briefcase with your gun,” Hotch answered. 

“Your briefcase, which is in the front seat of the rental car that Pearlman and Hays took back to Bangor,” Reid surmised. 

“Yes. Sorry,” Aaron added humbly. 

“Well that’s unfortunate. But there is no point in dwelling on what we can’t change. We may not have a lot of time. We should get busy with the luminol,” Reid whispered. Hotch nodded in agreement. 

“Where did you put the kit?” Aaron asked, helping Reid to his feet.


	48. The Incident at the Roadblock

48 - The Incident at the Roadblock

 

“Janeen, it’s going to be all right,” Sudbrink promised. 

“You’ve got to find Dirk,” Janeen insisted anxiously as she clawed at his arm.

“Ma’am, we’ll find your son. We’ve got federal officers, state troopers, and local police officers from four counties, all on the lookout for Dirk’s vehicle. We’ve got park rangers patrolling the state parks as well. Gorsuch is not going to slip through. We’re going to find your son,” Dr. Lind promised whole-heartedly. 

“What about an aerial search?” Janeen asked Jack. 

“The base has already scrambled support for the aerial search,” Sudbrink promised. “Janeen, Dirk is going to be all right. He’s a smart boy. He will know what to do.” 

“He’s my baby,” Janeen cried. “He’s all I’ve got.” 

“He’s going to be all right,” Sudbrink soothed, putting his arms around her. 

In spite of the increasingly-dreadful weather conditions, the task force was not giving up and going home. They had Highway Six tied up tightly. All vehicles had to pass through under the watchful inspection of law enforcement, at several roadblocks along the route. Because of the weather, there was not a great deal of traffic, so in spite of the roadblocks, the cars flowed smoothly and few people were inconvenienced. 

Torg and JJ were sitting in one of the SUVs, watching Jack comfort Janeen outside. Dr. Lind stood by, sheepishly avoiding looking at them as they embraced. JJ was in the driver’s seat, whacking her fingers on the steering wheel. She opened and closed the Velcro on her bullet-proof vest. She squirmed around, and moved the dash camera for the tenth time. 

“Hey,” Torg complained. 

“What?” JJ snapped.

“Move it back.”

“Why? It’s down too far. All you’re getting is the engine and the front tires.”

“What I’m getting is the license plate, a view of the floor boards, and a view of the trunk compartment,” Torg replied. 

JJ rolled her eyes and moved the camera back and forth again. 

“That FLIR is expensive shit. Be careful with it,” Torg added. 

“Whatever. We’re wasting time here. We should spread out and search for Gorsuch, not bunch up here and wait for him to come to us,” JJ muttered. She continued to fidget as she watched cars come through the roadblock. 

“You spent all afternoon searching the streets, and you didn’t find him. He has no choice but to come through one of the roadblocks on Highway 6. He’s going to show up sooner or later, either here or at another roadblock,” Torg insisted. 

“We’re wasting time sitting around. I bet Gorsuch has already killed the kid, taken his car, and driven out of the country using back roads. He’s not going to take the highway,” JJ decided. 

“He has to take the highway at one point or another, even to reach the back roads which lead into the woods, or the ones which lead to the Canadian border. He’s going to run into one of our roadblocks. I’m sure of it,” Torg answered.

“What about all the park lands? He could easily drive in there and hide out,” JJ snarked. “He could hole-up in one of those for weeks.” 

“The park rangers have the national and international parks covered as well,” Torg replied. 

“Maybe he went south instead of north. We have no idea where he’s gone. This waiting around is killing me. We need to be doing something to go out and find this guy instead of waiting for him to come to us,” JJ growled in frustration. She moved the camera again. 

“Will you stop?” Torg complained, smacking at her hand. “If you can’t be helpful, and least don’t be a pain in the ass.” 

“We are wasting time. This is so ridiculous. It’s obvious that Dr. Lind has never had command of a task force this large, or a situation this serious. She hasn’t got a damned clue what she’s doing. She should go back to Quantico where she belongs,” Jareau mocked. Torg didn’t reply to her. He was concentrating on the FLIR. “Some people are cut out for the field, and some people aren’t. Both of our doctors belong behind a desk,” JJ snarked. 

“You do know Dr. Lind taught courses at the Academy in interrogation techniques and criminal psychology, right? Victimology too. She’s a decorated field agent and a respected psychologist. It’s not like they randomly picked her name out of a hat for this job.”

“Really?” JJ snorted. “You could have fooled me.”

“You’re just pissed because you can’t use the same manipulation tools with Dr. Lind that you’ve always used with Hotch. You can’t use friendship to make her feel guilty, and you can’t claim sexism, because she’s been there, done that, way before your time. She’s been dealing with actual, real sexism on the job since you were riding a bike with training wheels.” 

“Women can be sexists.”

“Yeah? They can also be assholes.” 

Sudbrink abruptly let go of Janeen, and whirled around as Deputy McElvie sprinted down the road towards the chief’s cruiser. McElvie was holding his radio out as he ran. 

“CHIEF!! THEY’VE SPOTTED THEM!” McElvie announced at the top of his lungs. 

Everyone sprang into action. Car doors were flung open, guns were grabbed and cocked, aimed and readied. Police scrambled. Troopers scrambled. Torg adjusted his bullet-proof vest. Radios all throughout the roadblock came alive with transmissions going back and forth. Torg popped out of the SUV to cross the road and ask what was going on. He guided a car through their roadblock. The driver was gawking with undivided interest. 

“Where are they?” Sudbrink demanded of his deputy. 

“Coming past Saint Michael’s church,” McElvie reported, clicking the hand radio off and on to answer the person on the other end. “Say that again? Okay. Thanks. Dirk is driving. Goose is in the passenger seat.”

“Oh my God,” Janeen cried. Sudbrink pulled her aside, and set her down in the back seat of his cruiser. 

“Dirk is going to be all right, hon. Stay in here, and stay calm.” 

“He’s a kid. He’s never done anything bad. He doesn’t deserve to die,” Janeen rambled, shaking wildly. 

“He’s not going to die. You stop thinking like that,” Sudbrink said as he held her hand. Janeen put her other hand to her heart and heaved for breath. Sudbrink let go of Janeen’s hand, closed and locked the police cruiser doors, and bounced away towards the assembly of law enforcement personnel. He stood next to Dr. Lind, and gave her a questioning glance. 

“It’s all yours, Chief,” Dr. Lind replied. 

“Everyone in position,” Sudbrink ordered. Even though he was not the highest ranking officer on scene, this was his town and his jurisdiction. The safety in his town was his responsibility. Simone had taken into account that the others were following his lead without question. Dr. Lind was happy to concede the authority to Sudbrink because she recognized that he knew what he was doing. JJ was not happy though. 

“Aren’t you going to step up and take over?” JJ prodded Dr. Lind. 

“Chief Sudbrink has matters well in hand,” Dr. Lind replied. 

“But we’re in charge. You outrank him as a federal agent,” JJ muttered. “You should be the one directing them. Aren’t you going to tell them where to go and what to do?” 

“The chief has matters well in hand,” Dr. Lind repeated to JJ sternly. “Everyone else knows what their job is here.” 

“You’ve never been in charge of an operation like this, have you?” JJ sneered. “You haven’t got the first clue what to do. That’s why you aren’t stepping up to take charge.” 

“Agent Jareau,” Dr. Lind warned. “This is not a contest. This is a group effort. Our job is to save lives, not complicate the issue with arguments about who gets to wear the big hat.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to stand by and let a local LEO direct a federal operation,” JJ frowned angrily. Dr. Lind stared frostily at JJ until Jareau took a couple steps away from her. 

The squeal of burning tires and the roar of an over-taxed engine ripped through the night. One of the military helicopters was in hot pursuit. They were just visible in the distance, coming from the outskirts of town. A bright spotlight shone down over a small red car which was racing along the small highway at dangerous and unsuitable speeds for icy roads and snowy surfaces. 

Torg popped open the rear of the SUV, and pulled out a bullet-proof vest, which he brought to Dr. Lind. She reluctantly pulled it on. Torg followed in her footsteps as she got into position to the side of the roadblock lined with law enforcement vehicles. Flashing lights and sirens wailed in reply to each other as everyone turned and frowned while concentrating on the approaching vehicle. The percussion of the helicopter blades whirring this close to the ground only added to the chaos of the flakes and debris. Turbulence was stirring everything around like a snow globe. 

The car was not going to stop. This much was plainly obvious. No matter how many vehicles were blocking the path. No matter how many guns were visible. No matter how low and close the helicopter hovered, or how persuasively the voice from the overhead speaker kept giving orders, this car was not going to stop. Goose meant to ram the roadblock. He was hoping to die in a hail of bullets or die in a horrible twisted pile of metal and glass. 

Even if Dirk wanted to stop, it would not have been safe to stop. As fast as they were travelling, if the driver applied the brakes too suddenly at this point, the small vehicle was likely to flip itself end over end and land in a fiery pile of metal and broken glass to the side of the ditch. Or worse, the car might flip onto one of the law enforcement vehicles, and start a chain reaction explosion that would light up the night like a biblical apocalypse. 

“Mr. Gorsuch?! You’re surrounded! Pull over and release your hostage!” the soldier’s voice boomed down from the loud speaker on the helicopter’s undercarriage. It might have been LaFlamme, but it was impossible to tell because he was wearing a helmet with an opaque face-shield. 

In response, Goose moved closer to Dirk, and the frightened teen pressed the gas pedal harder. The car picked up speed, its engine roaring. The vehicle was flying like a demonic comet, snow bouncing away from it, engine burning hot, tires barely touching the surface of the slick road. 

Sudbrink cursed one word under his breath, and then ordered everyone around him, “Back off! He’s not stopping!” 

The local police obeyed first, backing their vehicles to the side of the highway. 

“Are you sure, Chief?” one of the state troopers asked. Torg moved the BAU SUV and left more than enough room for the red car to pass through. 

“YES!! NOW!!” Sudbrink shouted.

The state troopers quickly pulled their vehicles out of the way as well.

“You’re letting him go?!” JJ shouted at Sudbrink. 

“We don’t want to risk injuring the hostage,” Sudbrink replied. 

“This could be our only chance to stop Gorsuch!” JJ protested. 

“We are not going to jeopardize the hostage,” Sudbrink repeated more forcefully. JJ rolled her eyes at him, pulled her weapon, and stomped arrogantly to the middle of the highway. 

“JJ!!” Torg shouted fearfully. 

“Agent Jareau! Stand down!” Dr. Lind ordered. The car was getting closer. The helicopter was getting closer. “Agent Jareau! I am giving you a direct order! Holster your weapon and stand down!”

JJ ignored Dr. Lind, took aim, and fired her weapon at the oncoming car. Bullets bounced up from the road and blinked brightly as they struck the grill and glanced away. The vehicle did not slow its pace. It burned past state troopers and local police cruisers. While Dirk was white as a ghost, Goose Gorsuch was burning with hatred. Any attempt at masking his internal monster had been abandoned. His face was twisted with a dismissive sneer which left him almost unrecognizable to those who had known him for so many years. 

JJ continued to fire. A bullet dinged off the front of the car and went upwards. There was a loud ping, and sparks erupted under the bottom of the helicopter. The aircraft wavered and slowed. JJ continued to fire. Another bullet pinged off the road surface, and struck the spotlight on the bottom of the helicopter. The circle of light around the car vanished. The helicopter pulled up and turned away, leaving a trail of smoke as it wobbled away. 

Janeen was sitting stock still in Chief Sudbrink’s cruiser, her eyes glued to her son’s red car, to her son’s face. As the car came closer, Dirk met his mom’s eyes, and his scared face scrunched up tight. He mouthed ‘MOM!’ Janeen clawed at the cruiser doors in an attempt to open them, but she quickly realized that by design, she was not going to be able to open the rear doors of the police vehicle. Her anguished screaming echoed with the sirens. 

Chief Sudbrink barreled across the highway, and dove at JJ. His leap carried them both out of the path of the car with mere seconds to spare. They landed in the snow drift at the side of the highway, having narrowly missed colliding with the front of the BAU SUV. 

Dirk’s red car rocketed past. There were bullet dings in the hood of the car. The windshield had a hole and a circular webbed crack in the middle. The second the car had raced through the roadblock, the state troopers were leaping into their cars to give pursuit. They moved in an eerie synchronicity. Everyone peeled out in formation as if they had planned and rehearsed these moves for months. 

The local police force did not follow. Deputy McElvie opened the rear door of the chief’s police cruiser to let Janeen out. She staggered to her feet and made as if to follow her son’s car on foot, racing down the highway, screaming into the night. McElvie hurried after her, and he had to hold onto her very tightly to keep her still. 

On the far side of the road, Sudbrink yanked JJ bodily off the ground out of the snow drift. He dropped her unceremoniously to her feet. Sudbrink tore JJ’s gun out of her grip and threw it as far as he could throw it across the area by the side of the road. It bounced away into the distance among the trees. Just as JJ took a deep breath to shout at him, Jack Sudbrink clenched his fists and towered menacingly over her. He got directly in her face and roared at the top of his lungs. 

“AGENT JAREAU, YOU WERE ORDERED TO STAND DOWN! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND!? YOU COULD HAVE KILLED MY SON!”


	49. Dr. Mrs. Lori Sudbrink

49 - Dr. Mrs. Lori Sudbrink

 

“Chief? How is Mrs. Morrow?” 

Dr. Lind timidly approached Jack Sudbrink in the hallway at the hospital. The police chief paced back and forth, stopped, and faced Dr. Lind. It took a moment for him to be able to respond politely. He got right to the point. 

“I want Jareau out of my city. I want her out of my state. Tonight.”

“Agent Jareau has been pulled from the case,” Dr. Lind promised. 

“Not enough. I want her gone.” 

“She’s been pulled from the case and sent back to DC. I promise she won’t interfere again.” 

“I intend to press formal charges against her for reckless endangerment.” 

“Chief, I wish you would reconsider. Could we concentrate on one case at a time here?” Dr. Lind pleaded. “I understand you’re upset. I would be upset too if someone had fired a gun at my child.” 

“Look,” Jack sighed heavily. “I would be this angry even if Dirk wasn’t my son. He is a citizen in my jurisdiction, and it’s my responsibility. He is a hostage in the hands of a dangerous serial killer, and one of your agents almost killed him.”

“I can’t argue with you. What she did was wrong.” 

The doctor popped out of the hospital room, interrupting their fiery exchange. A small woman in her fifties, she smiled forlornly at Sudbrink, took his arm, and walked him to the other side of the hallway. 

“Janeen is resting. I’ve sedated her. She had a panic attack. It wasn’t a heart attack. I called Doug. He’s on his way.”

“Thanks,” Jack sighed. 

“You’re welcome,” the doctor replied. 

“I meant it. Thanks for helping Janeen.” 

“Jack, you don’t have to thank me for doing my job. You need to get back out there and do yours, instead of standing around in my hospital, attracting attention to yourself. If you want to help Janeen, bring Dirk home in one piece.” 

“I’m going. I’m going,” Sudbrink responded, dropping his head like a chastised hound. “You have every right to hate me, Lori. Every right to be mad at me,” he added, giving her an even more soulful stare. Dr. Lind watched with some confusion as the doctor gave Sudbrink an unhappy frown. 

“I am mad at you, Jack. Doesn’t it show?” she asked. 

“I never meant for you to find out about Janeen and me this way. What we had, it was so long ago. I swear, we’re just friends now. I swear there’s nothing going on any more. There hasn’t been for some time.” 

“Jack, we are not going to discuss this here.” 

“I know what I did was wrong, and I want you to know, I understand completely if you want me to pack up and move out,” Jack said. “I never meant to hurt you, or Jenny or Betty. I never meant for you to find out this way.” 

The nurses at the workstation down the hall were congregating, gawking like pigeons, ducking back and forth to keep from being seen. 

“Jack, this is not the time or the place. But if you think this situation with you and Janeen and Dirk comes as any sort of a surprise to me, well you’re sadly mistaken. I’ve known about your affair with Janeen for years. I also know it’s been over for years. I’m not stupid, Jack. Like I said, we’ll talk about it later. At home. In private. I’ve had enough of my personal business broadcast to the town for one night,” she insisted, turning to give Simone a piercing frown. Then she turned that foreboding glare at the nurses, and they scattered in every direction. 

“All right,” Sudbrink bowed his head even further. 

“Will you get some dog food on your way home? Jughead cleaned out the rest of the bag this morning for breakfast, after he ate my last bagel. I’m pulling a double shift, and I won’t be home until tomorrow at the earliest.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Dog food and bagels,” Sudbrink replied. He hauled himself up tall again, and sauntered off down the hallway. Dr. Lind fell in step next to the police chief. She looked back to see the doctor disappearing in the other direction. Chief Sudbrink and Dr. Lind stopped in front of the elevators, avoiding looking at one another. Jack pushed the button. The nurses at the work station pretended to be engrossed in their charts, but were darting glances at the police chief while his back was turned. 

“My wife Lori,” Sudbrink explained. 

“I guessed,” Dr. Lind replied. 

“What’s our next step?” 

“We hope the state troopers were able to keep up with Dirk and Goose.”

“And if they weren’t?” Sudbrink frowned. “He knows these road far better than they do.” 

“Then we hope Goose gets stopped at one of the other roadblocks,” Dr. Lind replied. 

“I think I know where he’s headed.”

“If I were him, I’d be headed to Mary’s cabin,” Dr. Lind said. 

“Agent Hotchner and Dr. Reid are there alone. We need to hurry,” Sudbrink said. 

“Yes, we do,” Lind agreed. 

“By the way, thank you for what you did back there.”

“You’re welcome. I could see that you had the situation well in hand at the roadblock. It was a matter of public safety, in your town, concerning one of your citizens, and that falls under your purview. I’m sorry that Agent Jareau felt the need to interject herself.” 

“Any other federal agent would have been out there pushing me aside, waving a gun and a badge, proving who had the biggest dick.” 

“I’m new to this command thing,” Dr. Lind replied as the doors dinged open.

“It’s refreshing to be treated as an adult, and a peer, and not an idiot underling. Ma’am, if that’s your command style, don’t change a thing,” Sudbrink said as they climbed in the elevator.


	50. Unholy Night

50 - Unholy Night

 

“Reid….” 

Spencer shook himself awake, shivering, putting a hand out. Where was Aaron? 

Hotch took Reid’s out-stretched hand and held it. They had been sitting together on the floor near the hearth, bundled up in each other’s arms to keep warm. Reid must have fallen asleep. The flames had died out to embers which cast a small glow and little heat. They needed to add more wood to the fire. Hotch pulled Reid close, and eased him upright into a standing position. 

Hotch and Reid had bundled up their equipment after finishing the luminol search of the bathroom. The unholy glow had long since faded, but not before they had managed to take enough pictures to track the deeds which had been committed there. Reid shivered because those blood pools, handprints, finger streaks, and claw marks were going to be vivid in his mind for some time to come. Tomorrow Hotch and Reid would resume their work with the physical evidence search in the bathroom – bag and tag everything they could find. Having nothing left to do but wait until morning, they had settled in by the fire. 

“Shhhh,” Aaron whispered urgently. Spencer leaned against him and fought to focus his sleepy brain, to orient himself to his unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn’t morning yet. Not even close. Two beams of fractured light pierced the cabin through the kitchen window. Headlights in the driveway? The weather front had cleared briefly, but it was only a break between storm fronts. The moon shone down on the pristine snow. 

“What is it?” Reid whispered back, clearing his throat, watching his breath dissipate in the cold air. 

“Car,” Hotch whispered. 

“Backup?” Reid asked hopefully. 

“Not backup,” Hotch whispered, pulling Reid into the shadows of the cabin. 

The headlights died in the driveway as the car’s battery fizzled out. Two figures stumbled out of the driver’s side of a small car. Visible in the moonlight, the figures approached the cabin along the driveway, one pushing the other along every few steps. Reid inhaled and pulled back further into the shadows against Hotch. His satchel! Where was his satchel? Reid felt naked without it. 

“Goose….Goose….stop…..” A young man panted, breathing heavily as if in pain. 

“Shut up! Keep moving!” Gorsuch snarled. 

“Why are you doing this?” the young man asked. 

“Shut up!” Goose snarled again, shoving him into the cabin. Hotch and Reid were concealed in the shadows when the portal slammed open. Dirk Morrow collided with the icebox, and went down in the heap on the floor. Goose slammed a big hand against the other wall, and dull light flooded the kitchen area from above the sink. Reid’s satchel was hanging from the back of one of the folding chairs. Spencer winced when Goose’s eyes went right to it. Then Gorsuch’s shrewd gaze headed for the laptop, camera, and bottles of chemicals on the table. Of course, his first clue that his private lair had been breached should have been the fact that the lock had been cut from the door.

The sound of Hotch cocking his gun filled the silence. Dirk lay on the cabin floor, rubbing the back of his head. He blinked in surprise as Hotch moved into the light, and Reid followed in Hotch’s shadow. 

“You got no right to be here,” Goose muttered, fuming with anger. 

“Our search warrant is on the table,” Reid replied. This was the first time he had met the older Mr. Gorsuch face to face. His first impression was the vague resemblance to Hotch, which he found unnerving. His second impression was of how big and intimidating Goose was. Unlike Hotch, Reid was thoroughly convinced that this man could kill with his bare hands. 

“This is Mary’s place. You have no right to be here without her permission,” Goose growled. 

“Mr. Gorsuch, why don’t you put down the knife, and we can talk about this?” Hotch persuaded. 

Dirk was squeaking along the surface of the icebox with his shoulders and back, pushing himself to his feet while keeping out of Goose’s reach. Gorsuch took off his hat and rubbed a hand through his dark hair before putting the hat back on. 

“What’s there to talk about?” 

“Mr. Gorsuch, put down the knife,” Hotch murmured evenly. 

Dirk skirted sideways, putting his back to the thin door of the pantry. When he was far enough away from Goose, Dirk sprinted six steps and hid behind Reid and Hotch. 

“I didn’t mean you any harm, Dirk,” Goose insisted. 

“Fuck you, man,” Dirk spat back. “You almost got me killed! That stupid bitch was shooting at my car! I’ve got glass in my hair! I’ve got a bullet hole in my windshield!”

Goose looked embarrassed at the teen’s angry outburst, and he reached out and straightened the map on the fridge. 

“Maybe your daddy should keep you safe at home then,” Gorsuch suggested. Dirk didn’t understand the meaning of the jab, and ignored it. Reid did understand, and he was wondering now if Goose's choice of carjack victims had been at all random. Chances were growing that his choice had been a deliberate attempt to provoke Chief Sudbrink. 

“I should get more milk. The old stuff has gone bad by now. Yup. Milk’s gone bad,” Gorsuch whispered, closing the icebox. He looked back towards the cabinets, the dusting of black powder everywhere, and was quick to notice the missing handles. He eased open the top drawer, and turned to glare at Reid and Hotch. 

“Mr. Gorsuch, put down your knife, and we’ll talk about this,” Hotch said. “Take the kid outside,” Aaron whispered to Reid over one shoulder. 

“What?” Reid gasped in disbelief.

“Take the kid outside,” Hotch repeated. “Goose, be calm No one needs to get hurt.”

“Calm?” Goose frowned, leaning on the rickety table. “What the fuck do you know about calm?” he laughed harshly. 

“Reid, go,” Hotch whispered sternly. Spencer inched towards the open door, pushing Dirk Morrow along. 

“Leave the door open,” Gorsuch bellowed. Dirk squeaked and sprinted outside, rolling over the first snow drift and hiding down behind it. 

“Go outside,” Hotch whispered to Reid when Spencer stopped on the threshold. 

“No,” Spencer responded. The dim kitchen light wasn’t much, but it showed the weariness in Goose’s face. It showed the anger too though. Reid was not leaving Hotch alone to face the bottled-up wrath of Goose Gorsuch. Reid knew if he left and closed this door, Hotch wasn’t leaving the cabin alive. 

“Mary doesn’t like it if you close the door. Leave it open,” Goose growled. 

“All right. Reid, go outside, and leave the door open,” Hotch persisted. 

“No,” Reid continued to refuse. “Let me get my satchel. My phone is in there. I’ll call for help. We can all put down our big knives, and our big guns, and our big egos, and everyone can walk out of here in one piece. How does that sound?” 

“REID!” Hotch shouted. “Leave the satchel. Go!”

“I need my satchel,” Spencer persisted. He was inching towards the table and the folding chair. Goose watched him, eyes narrowing. Gorsuch was anticipating leaping out and grabbing Reid the moment Spencer was in reach. 

“Mr. Gorsuch, if you move one inch, I’ll blow your head off,” Hotch warned. Goose’s brow lowered, and his mouth stretched out to both sides of his face. He taunted Hotch with an unholy smile. 

“You’re mighty protective of the skinny guy, aren’t you, secret agent man?” Goose observed. 

“One fucking step,” Hotch warned again. 

“What? You can’t leave without your purse?” Goose mocked Reid. 

“Mr. Gorsuch, I wanted to tell you that I’m very sorry about your wife,” Reid stammered. 

“You’re sorry about my wife?” Goose mumbled, straightening up. The words had taken him by surprise. Spencer used one foot to pull the chair to himself rather than reach across the space. He lifted his satchel, and tucked it over his shoulder, hugging it down against his chest with a relieved sigh. 

“I’m sure you never meant for things to go the way they did with Mary, or with your brother either one for that matter,” Reid continued. 

“I don’t need your sympathy, you miserable prick. Mind your own goddamn business, and get the fuck out of this cabin,” Goose rumbled. Reid backed up in slow, measured steps, his eyes never leaving Gorsuch’s sour face. 

“It must have come as a terrible surprise to you. They were the two people you loved the most in the world. You trusted them. You loved them. And they betrayed you,” Reid went on. Goose’s face got harder by the second. 

“I love Mary very much,” he murmured, “and she loved me.” 

“It must have been devastating when you discovered they were cheating behind your back,” Reid said. Goose’s face went from morose to furious as if he had been struck by lightning. He raised his blade and snarled, spittle flying as he snapped words at Reid. 

“You shut up now, or I’ll slit your fucking throat!”

“Gorsuch! Put down the knife!” Hotch shouted, raising his gun and leveling it. 

“I love Mary!” Goose shouted. 

“I know you did,” Reid said in a soothing, persuasive voice. “You didn’t blame Mary. You couldn’t believe she was responsible, because of the abuse she had suffered as a child. You blamed your brother. You knew how he was around women. You thought he took advantage of Mary. You wanted to punish him for what he’d done. You took him out hunting, and you killed him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Goose sneered. 

“The police cleared you of any wrong-doing, declared your brother’s death an accident. But Mary? That was a different story. Every time she looked at you, you felt the accusation in her eyes. You thought she’d be grateful that you had rescued her from someone taking advantage of her. Like you rescued her from her father? But that wasn’t how she reacted, was it? Even if you fooled everyone else, you couldn’t fool Mary. She knew what you had done. That’s why she killed herself, to punish you.” 

“I didn’t hurt Mary,” Goose insisted, quivering, pointing his knife at Reid. “I didn’t lay a hand on her. I love Mary,” he trembled, tears welling. 

“No, you didn’t hurt her. You were devastated when she died. But you were angry at her all the same. You had all these feelings churning around, but no outlet, because she was gone. You couldn’t stand at her tombstone and scream at her for cheating behind your back with your brother. Then everyone would know! Instead, you bottled your emotions up inside, and kept showing a normal face to the world. But those feelings festered. Every time you saw a woman who reminded you of Mary, those feelings boiled over. You couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” Reid whispered in a persuasive, soft voice. 

Goose snarled and snatched out a big hand, fingers grasping at Reid’s closest sleeve as he raised the knife with the other hand. Spencer recoiled, dropping to the floor, sprawling backwards like an ungainly spider. 

Hotch’s weapon went off. A blast of light and a shock of sound echoed in the close quarters of the squalid shack. The stench of gunpowder clouded the air.

Goose flew back against the icebox with a grunt. Reid heard the bullet smack a hard surface. Had Hotch missed? Impossible at this distance! Reid glanced at the icebox, but there was no bullet hole as he had anticipated. There was no more time to wonder where the shot had struck. A firm hand grabbed Reid by the hair and hauled him out of harm’s way. Hotch shoved Reid bodily out of the cabin and into the snow drift. 

“How many bullets you got in that gun, secret agent man?” Goose laughed harshly, his heavy frame upright again. Reid scrambled out of the drift and peered carefully around Hotch’s legs while he struggled to get to his feet. Goose rubbed his massive chest and winced in pain. 

“More than enough to put you in the ground if I want,” Aaron growled. 

“You think so?” Goose retorted, opening his camo coat and his flannel jacket and showing the Kevlar vest beneath. A flattened bullet clattered away. “Always prepare for the unexpected,” he explained. “Fire at will. You aren’t going to hurt me unless you take a head shot.” 

“I don’t want to kill you, Goose,” Hotch warned. “But I’m not against wounding you to get you to surrender.” 

“Think you’re that good?” Gorsuch grinned. It was not a joyful smile. It was the kind of smile that sent an icy chill through one’s soul. Reid knew this was the leering face that Goose had shown to his victims in their final moments. It was the self-congratulating smirk of a cold-blooded murderer who had all the time in the world to toy with his prey. 

“You okay?” Hotch whispered to Reid without turning around. 

“Fine,” Reid whispered. Goose inched closer, and Hotch backed up cautiously.

“Call for reinforcements?” Hotch asked without taking his eyes off of Gorsuch, whose knife was gleaming in the dim light.

“Hotch, why don’t you put a bullet in his face, and be done with it?” Reid muttered, fumbling inside his satchel for his phone. 

“Yeah, secret agent man. What are you waiting for? Shoot me,” Goose taunted. 

“I’d rather not have to kill you, Mr. Gorsuch.”

“I’d rather die and get it over with.” 

“You don’t want to die, Goose. You want to explain to everyone why you’re done what you’ve done. If you’re dead, you can’t tell us your side of the story,” Hotch offered persuasively. 

“Nobody cares about my reasons,” Goose sneered. 

“There’s no answer at the station,” Reid reported to Hotch. 

“Shit,” Hotch hissed.

“So no backup then? Aw. Too bad. It’s just you and me and your girlfriend there, eh?” Goose taunted. “You better shoot me, secret agent man, or you’re going to regret it. If you don’t kill me, I am going to kill you first, and then I’m going to take my time with your little buddy there. I'm looking forward to hearing him scream.” 

“Put down the knife!” Hotch shouted, as Reid stood to Hotch’s right in the doorway. 

“It’s over, Goose. It’s time to give up. The task force knows you’re headed up here. They won’t be far behind you,” Reid murmured. 

“Sudbrink hasn’t got a fucking clue. Nice guy, but no, he doesn’t know half of what I’ve done, and he wouldn’t believe you even if you could prove it,” Goose laughed. 

Reid’s eyes darted to the map on the fridge and the many red X’s. Goose kept looking at the map, and back at Hotch and Reid, and back again at the map with that sickly, horrible smile of his. Reid realized that one of the X’s was positioned in the middle of the backyard of the cabin, right where the collapsed well was believed to be. What if the other X’s on the map indicated more mass graves? Would any criminal be stupid enough to keep such a record of their crimes in plain sight? He might if no other person who ever came into this cabin left alive. The dead can’t speak of what they’ve seen. 

Reid took a calming breath, pushing down the panic that was rising up in his chest. Hotch must have been having the same thought at the same moment, because his shoulders squared, and an indignant anger crept up his neck above his collar. He growled under his breath, narrowing his eyes tighter at Gorsuch. 

It was in the middle of his own calming breath when Reid realized Dirk Morrow was not behind him in the snow. There was frantic breathing and panting getting further away from the cabin though. Reid turned to watch the stocky teen sprint across the clearing, and skid into the driveway. He was racing towards the police cruiser which had rolled silently on scene, lights off, sirens dead. Only the moonlight glinting off the chrome and the windshield revealed the SUV was even there. A light blinked on as the car door opened. Jack Sudbrink reached out and pulled Dirk to safety, wrapping him in a big blanket and hugging him tight for a second before stuffing him in the backseat of the cruiser. 

Seconds later, more cars appeared in the driveway, lights off, sirens silent. The cavalry had arrived! A phalanx of state troopers and local police and federal agents drove into the edge of the front yard, and climbed out of their vehicles, getting down behind their car doors. They were aiming their weapons directly at the cabin. In a blink which blinded, a bank of flood lights illuminated the front yard and the dwelling. It was suddenly brighter than high noon. The lights were amplified by the glow of the snow. The whirring of helicopter blades came into hearing range, thumping and pounding and raising up the loose flakes below. 

“It’s over, Goose. Put down the knife,” Hotch ordered. 

“You didn’t count on Josephine surviving, did you?” Reid wondered. 

“Should you be telling him about her?” Hotch whispered. 

“Josephine?” Gorsuch questioned. His every breath seemed to make his chest bigger, and his form more imposing. “There wasn’t any Josephine,” he muttered. Goose stopped by the side of the metal table, resting both hands on one of the chairs as he dropped the knife down to the floor. 

“Those scratches on her side weren't from any predator. Those were attempted stab wounds,” Reid murmured, almost to himself. 

“There wasn’t any Josephine,” Goose insisted, pointing back to the map with one long finger while gripping the back of the metal folding chair with the other hand. “There’s Miranda. Kristie. Glory and Terry. There’s Cathy. There’s so many others. But there wasn’t a Josephine. There never was. You got the wrong guy after all,” he smirked. “Can I go now?”

“The rips in her carrier? You tried to stab her, thought you’d done her in too. It was hard to tell in your truck, in the dark, the way she must have been hissing and spitting and bolting around. When you saw blood, you threw the carrier out of your truck, and kept going, thinking Josie was either dead or dying,” Reid said.

“Is this all about that stupid cat?” Goose laughed before turning his attention back to Hotch. “Tell you what, secret agent man. I’ll solve all your problems for you. Toss me the gun, walk out that door, and I’ll do myself with one bullet,” Goose said as he turned his attention towards Hotch, wiggling his fingers over the cup of his hand.

“Do I look that stupid?” Hotch retorted snidely.

“Not my place to say,” Goose sneered. “You don’t want to go through a trial and more than I do,” Goose moaned, dropping his hands down both sides of the metal chair. “Please. Kill me. I want to be with Mary again.”

“Sorry. I’m not giving you a free pass on what you’ve done. You’re going to answer for your crimes,” Hotch hissed. 

“DUCK!” Reid yelled frantically. 

Hotch went sideways in the nick of time as Goose swung the metal folding chair past his head like a freight train. One shot rang out in the cabin. Complete pandemonium erupted at the edge of the yard when the assembled law enforcement personnel heard the shot. 

Goose went back against the counter with a bloody wound in his right thigh. He was howling in agony, glaring hatefully at Hotch, clasping to stem the blood that gushed down his pant leg. Several figures swarmed past Reid and grabbed at Goose Gorsuch, wrestling him down to the floor and slapping cuffs on him. Reid braved the stampede of law enforcement, and hurried to Hotch’s side, dragging him out of harm’s way. 

“Gregory Gorsuch, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” 

Chief Jack Sudbrink’s words carried on the wind as he pushed Goose out of the cabin and into the snowy night. Jack was aiming towards the state troopers’ vehicles because Dirk Morrow was in the back of his own police cruiser. Gorsuch’s gushing leg wound left a trail of red droplets through the snowy yard. Reid pushed Hotch up against Dirk Morrow’s little red car, and yelled at him.

“Are you out of your mind?! I am not leaving you alone in a cabin with a sadistic killer so you can prove how big your dick is. Don’t you ever….ever!…..order me to do that again! Ever!”

“Okay, I won’t,” Hotch laughed, ducking when Reid smacked his shoulder. 

“He would have killed you,” Spencer whimpered a second later, almost in the same breath. 

“Reid….” Hotch sighed with relief. “I’m fine.” 

The military helicopter which had been hovering overhead was putting down on the front yard, tossing up icy cold wind and flying snow. Camo-clad cadets fanned out across the lawn towards the cabin and the driveway. Two figures hurried over to Reid and Hotch. LaFlamme barked orders to his cadets as he stood in the driveway, hovering protectively near Reid and Hotch. Cadet Galwick lit up with sheer delight as she tossed her duffel up on the car’s hood, and pulled it open to reveal a very impressive first-aid pack. 

“We are unharmed, cadet,” Reid insisted. 

“Awww….but…..but…..” Cadet Galwick could not have been more disappointed. 

“If it makes you feel better, you can check us over,” Hotch added. Galwick’s smile returned full force. 

Reid looked up to see that Captain Spaulding was climbing out of the pilot seat of the helicopter, helmet in hand, big grin on her face.


	51. The Dead and the Living

51 - The Dead and the Living

 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. I really appreciate this. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” 

Joy was shivering as she spoke, repeating her thanks for the hundredth time. She might have been shivering because of the temperatures outside. The snow had stopped, but the thermometer had dropped below freezing and stayed for three days in a row. It could have been the temperature inside too, where the mortuary was kept at an even chill year round. 

“You’re welcome. This visual identification is only a formality. We’ve already determined these victims' identities from dental charts and fingerprints,” Reid said as he reached out and offered his hand. Joy looked down at the rubber-glove-covered extremity, and sniffled with humor and sadness both. 

Honestly Reid wasn’t thinking straight. He was bone tired because he had gone the better part of a week with very little sleep. At first he had been assisting Stowe's Boston team with the precarious removal of remains from the mass grave in the collapsed well in the backyard of the Gorsuch cabin. Once that was under control, Hotch had ordered him to move to the state coroner’s office to assist with identifying the remains. The task force had added reinforcements from the Boston office, and had branched out to the other locations marked the map from the cabin. It came as a great relief to have discovered nothing. Goose had been bluffing, after all. He had claimed there were more bodies in order to inflict more emotional pain, and to make himself seem like a more accomplished killer than he actually was. Reid was now thoroughly convinced that behind that shy façade lurked a truly frightening sadist. 

Joy raised her eyes to the big window before her. She and Reid were standing in the hallway outside of the main bay of the state mortuary. There were trays of tools laid out, fresh from the autoclave, steaming in the cold. A tech was working furiously to get all the sharp objects repackaged and packed away for their next use. 

Reid had been haunting this place for days, hardly seeing the sun. He was working at such a furious pace because he wanted to make certain that they had their facts straight. He wanted enough irrefutable evidence to keep Gregory Gorsuch from ever walking free again. 

Inside the bay, there were six occupied tables. Six white sheets. Six lumpy configurations which vaguely matched human forms, though admittedly, all the tables were not equally filled, due to the difference in date of death and rate of decomposition. Some victims were fully articulated corpses, while others were but a pile of bones. It wasn’t hard for Joy to guess which silver slab her sister Glory was laid out on. The last sheet was covering a fuller mass than the others. There was also a hint of brunette hair peeking out of the top of the sheet. 

“Joy, you don’t have to do this. We have already made the official identification. I think it’s a mistake for you to see Glory like this,” Reid whispered. He pulled off his rubber glove, tossed it into a trash can beside the door. He offered Joy his limb again, warm flesh and blood, if bony and gaunt. 

“I need to see her. Can’t you understand?” Joy whispered back. 

Reid did understand. He understood very well. If he should ever find himself in her unfortunate situation, he would need to see Hotch, or Jack, or his mom, or Mouse, in order to finally believe it was actually his loved one and that they were truly gone. Spencer’s eyes moved down the hallway briefly. At the end of the junction, outside the swinging silver doors, he could see Mrs. Francis peering through the oblong glass window. Her face was awash with pity and concern. 

“Would you rather have Mrs. Francis here?” Reid asked.

“No,” Joy said, holding Spencer’s hand. “I want you.” 

The state coroner focused his eyes on Reid and waited for the word to lift the sheet. He thought this was a bad idea too. His concern was all over his face. 

“Can I go inside?” Joy asked suddenly. 

“No, that is not a good idea,” Reid shook his head. “Although the cold environment has somewhat slowed the decay process, Glory has been deceased since late October. She is in a state of decomposition.” 

“I’ve seen dead bodies before. I’ve worked with cadavers. I’ve witnessed autopsies. I understand about contaminating the evidence.” 

“We have gathered all the evidence we can gather. It’s not that I’m worried you will disturb Glory. I’m worried Glory will disturb you.” 

“It feels wrong standing out here like this. It feels wrong to treat Glory at a distance,” Joy murmured sadly. “I have to know that it’s really her. I have to see her for myself, or I will never be able to stop looking for her.” 

Reid reluctantly agreed. He opened the swinging door with an upturned elbow, and escorted Joy into the mortuary bay. Her face did not wrinkle at the smell. It remained passive and forlorn. Reid walked Joy slowly to the last table, wincing when she clutched his hand with all her might. Reid met the coroner’s disapproving gaze, and the quiet man nodded back. 

“She will not look like herself,” Reid cautioned again. 

“I understand,” Joy insisted, letting go of his hand. 

The coroner pulled the sheet back from Glory Lovelace’s head, but that’s as far as he went. Reid was thankful that Joy could not see the horrible injury on Glory’s neck where she had been garroted to the point of near-decapitation. Joy took a breath and held it, blinking in disbelief. As much as she was faced with the irrefutable truth, this wasn’t real yet to her, Reid knew, not yet. No matter how much time she had had to fear this was true, facing the reality, and knowing at last that it was true, it was going to take more time to sink in. Joy took a breath, exhaled. Took another, exhaled. She stared to her right to Reid. 

“Ms. Harmony was right. She does look peaceful,” Joy murmured. 

Reid watched Joy carefully. Was she hoping to convince Reid, or convince herself? Glory did not look at all peaceful. Her lower mandible was slack, and her features were twisted and almost unrecognizable. Her head was tilted at an unnatural angle. To say she looked peaceful was to indulge in self-delusion. Maybe Joy needed to tell herself that. Who was Reid to disagree with her?

Reid had such mixed feelings about allowing Joy to be here. But she had begged him for days, ever since the task force had begun to pull remains from the collapsed well. Reid had felt it was unforgivably cruel to keep Joy at a distance rather than to give her these few moments, the last ones she would ever have with her sister. He would have preferred to keep Joy on the other side of the glass, but life had been cruel enough to her. 

“Can I hold her hand?” Joy pleaded softly. 

Reid hesitated. The state coroner frowned at him, and Spencer understood his misgivings, but they had come this far. Reid couldn’t say no now. Tactical stimuli. There were people who could only believe what they could touch. Perhaps if he let Joy touch Glory, she would finally believe. 

Reid pulled a rubber glove from a near-by box, and handed it to Joy. She quickly and expertly pulled it on. Reid stepped forward, and Joy followed along. He gently lifted the sheet away from Glory’s right hand. It was laying palm up. Glory’s tattoo was visible even in her shriveled, unpleasant state. It was the mirror of Joy’s tattoo on the opposite wrist, the same Celtic braid in the same green and gold colors. Glory and Joy. Joy and Glory. 

Reid’s heart was in his throat. He knew that Joy had gotten her tattoo to cover the scars of a suicide attempt. His greatest fear about letting Joy see Glory in this state was that Joy might again try to kill herself, only this time, she might succeed. He had shared these concerns with Mrs. Francis, and Connie had promised to watch Joy night and day. But what would happen when Joy returned home to DC? What would happen the first night she was alone at home with only her thoughts, her memories, and her regrets? 

Joy slid her gloved hand tenderly against Glory’s hand, cupping her sister’s fingers for a gentle squeeze. Reid had a vague recollection of lying in the hospital bed, feeling Hotch's hand in his own hand, feeling Hotch touch his nose, and hearing Hotch's voice in his ear. 

'I won't leave you, Baby. Don't you leave me.' 

Reid sniffled and looked away as Joy was biting her mouth closed. Her eyes were dry, and her voice was silent, but it felt as if her sorrow expanded to fill the entirety of the room. What warmth and light had been in her eyes before withered away, leaving nothing behind. Moments like this made it hard to tell the difference between the dead and the living. 

“It is her,” Joy murmured finally. 

“It is,” Reid confirmed.

“It’s all my fault,” Joy quivered. 

“This is not your fault,” Reid murmured sorrowfully. 

“You don’t understand. The last thing I yelled as I went out the door was ‘Fine! Go! See if I care!’ Dr. Reid? Never in a million years did I think Glory would do it. I never thought she’d actually leave that night. That’s the last thing I ever said to her. She’d be alive if we hadn’t fought that night. She’d’ve never left if I hadn’t said those things to her.” 

“Joy, this is not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for what happened,” Reid insisted. 

Joy slowly released Glory’s hand and stepped back from the table. The coroner covered Glory’s hand and her face once more. A terrible, cold darkness fell across Joy’s face. Her jaw pulled tight as she gritted her teeth together.

“You’re going to make him pay for what he’s done, aren’t you?” Joy asked. Her voice had taken on a harder edge. 

“We have more than enough evidence from these remains alone to put Gregory Gorsuch away for the rest of his life. Coupled with Megan Tremblay’s testimony, and the trail of evidence from the residences and the vehicles, I'm sure he will never see the light of day again.” 

“Life in prison?” Joy questioned, her voice dropping even further. All kindness and sweetness had dissipated from her tone. 

“Maine does not have the death penalty. Mr. Gorsuch cannot be executed for his crimes. The best we can hope for is life in prison without the possibility of parole,” Reid sympathized. 

Joy whipped off the rubber glove and threw it angrily into the nearest trash can. She crashed violently into the swinging door to exit the bay. Filled with anxiety, Reid followed her as she slammed out into the hallway. This had been a mistake – a very bad mistake. 

“Joy, please wait,” Reid pleaded. 

“What do you mean they don’t have the death penalty?” she screamed.

“Maine abolished the death penalty in 1887.” 

“He killed Glory! He killed her! He killed all the others too! Why should he get life in prison? He deserves to die for what he’s done! An eye for an eye! A life for a life! He killed them! Life in prison?! That’s all they’ll give him!? I want him dead! I want him dead!! I WANT HIM DEAD! I WANT HIM DEAD! I WANT HIM DEAD!” Joy bellowed, fists clenched, body stiff. 

“I am sorry, but…” 

Joy flew at Reid like a vengeful fury. Words escaped her. She couldn’t articulate the emotions that were overwhelming her. Reid backed away as she advanced on him, screaming out her anguish in an unending echo. Reid was up against the far wall, and Joy was all over him. She pounded his chest and clawed at him until he managed to snatch her hands and hold them aside. Because she could no longer strike out physically, she took a breath and screamed out again. 

The doors at the far end of the hallway burst open. There was a gallop of heavy footsteps. Uniformed figures raced the corridor between the waiting room and the far wall where Joy had Reid pinned. Reid had his face turned away. He was holding her wrists in a death grip, and Joy was bellowing directly into his ear. 

Joy was yanked away from him, and restrained by two police officers. They struggled to contain her as she gyrated and writhed, kicked and screamed. They had dragged her down the corridor and away. Reid slid down the wall and landed abruptly on the floor. Through the open doors, Mrs. Francis stared at Reid, horrified for him, but she followed after Joy. 

At the far end of the corridor, as the swinging doors swung open again, a new groups of figures caught Reid’s eyes. Billy Haverty stood in silence, his face a mask of shock and pain. Lieutenant Bonifant stood next to him, holding his hand, murmuring gentle words as she rubbed his shoulder. Next to Haverty stood Ben Northland, alone, stone-faced, unfeeling. 

Reid was shaking, fighting back tears. His tailbone ached where he had landed on the floor, and his chest throbbed where Joy had pounded on him. He was not ready to stand yet. The pains in his body were nothing compared to the guilt and regret devouring his heart. If he could take it back, he would. If he could undo what he had done, he would. 

“Dr. Reid?” Ensign James appeared. He helped Reid to his feet. “Son of a bitch. I didn’t think she’d flip out, not like that,” he whispered, touching a tissue to Spencer’s mouth. 

“Thank you. Please, go make sure Joy is okay.” 

“Doc?” James frowned. “She is not my job. You are.” 

“Please. She didn’t mean to lash out. She yelled at me because I was there. She’s hurting. Please. She didn’t mean it,” Reid begged. The ensign nodded, patting Reid’s shoulder, and vanishing down the corridor. 

Reid stumbled back towards the mortuary bay. He was at the door when Hotch and Torg came barreling through from the waiting room at a dead run. They nearly ran over him. Hotch was frantic, but Torg looked scared shitless. Hotch composed himself more quickly. He took Reid by the shoulders, and gave him a quick perusal and a questioning stare.

“I told you she wasn’t going to react well,” Hotch said sternly. Reid nodded, licking his bottom lip, pocketing the tissue. 

“Did it finally sink in that her sister is dead?” Torg said, shaking his head in sympathy.

“No,” Reid whispered. 

“You told her we can’t ask for the death penalty?” Hotch asked. 

“You were correct in your assumption. She did not take the news well,” Reid whispered. 

“You all right?” Hotch murmured.

“I’m fine,” Reid lied softly. Perhaps if he kept repeating the words, eventually they would be true. “How was the meeting with the Brass?”

Torg was suddenly morose and guilt-ridden. Hotch’s expression became even more grim than usual. 

“JJ has been formally disciplined for insubordination and reckless endangerment. A letter will be placed in her file. She is not allowed to work any cases or travel with the team. There’s going to be another meeting next week to decide her punishment. In the meantime, she remains suspended,” Hotch said. 

“I was hoping Dr. Lind would be able to convince Chief Sudbrink to drop the reckless endangerment charges against JJ,” Reid said. 

“No, but not for lack of trying,” Hotch answered. 

“Do you think if I speak with him, he might drop the charges?” Reid wondered. 

“No, and I would advise against pressing the issue,” Hotch recommended. 

“I could perhaps change his mind.” 

“Reid, don’t press the issue. I want this case to be closed smoothly and efficiently. I don’t want to upset Chief Sudbrink,” Hotch repeated more firmly. Reid gave Hotch a sorrowful look, but he nodded anyway. 

“What are they going to do about Jared Jackson?” Reid asked. 

“The state is taking charge of the sexual misconduct case, owing to the fact that Chief Sudbrink can’t investigate because his own daughter might be involved,” Torg replied. Karl dropped his head, and his shoulders sank. He stared at the floor and sighed. He lifted his head and peered through the oblong glass in the door to the mortuary bay. Puzzlement replaced the sorrow in his features. 

“I thought you pulled five bodies from the well. Why are there six bodies in there?” Torg wondered. 

“We asked the State of Maine to exhume Matthew Gorsuch, Sr., so we could determine if his death was accidental or not,” Reid explained as he walked back into the bay. Hotch and Torg followed. The state coroner greeted them as they circled each of the tables one by one. 

“What are your preliminary findings?” Hotch asked. Reid glanced to the state coroner, who put down his clipboard and pen long enough to come over and shake Hotch’s hand. He shook Torg’s hand as well. 

“Dr. Sutter,” he murmured.

“Agent Hotchner, Agent Torgeson,” Hotch replied. “What were you able to determine about Mr. Gorsuch?” 

“Matthew Gorsuch, Sr. was shot at a distance of ten feet with a Winchester Featherweight. Nice weapon. Reliable, smooth….. ” the coroner shrugged off the tangent about the choice of firearms when Hotch and Torg both frowned at him. “He took the shot in the left side of the chest. Death would have been quick.” 

“Which side? The left side?” Hotch asked. Dr. Sutter turned to his right, and moved around to Hotch’s right, aiming his arms as if holding a rifle, in order to demonstrate what he was saying. “Goose was facing his brother when he shot him?” Hotch wondered. 

“Yes, they would have been facing each other, with Matthew Senior turned to his right with his left side facing his brother.”

“Why weren’t there injuries to his hands or his arms?” Hotch asked, noting the angle of the trajectory that the coroner was suggesting would have hit him in the arms if they had been down at his sides. 

“Matthew Gorsuch was holding his weapon up. His arms and elbows would have been raised,” Reid speculated, touching Hotch’s jacket sleeves. Hotch lifted his arms, holding an imaginary weapon. 

“Was he getting ready to fire back at Goose?” Torg wondered. 

“Was Matthew Gorsuch, Sr. turning around when Goose shot him?” Torg asked, looking back and forth between Hotch and Sutter. 

“It would seem he was turning, but was he turning towards or turning away?” Hotch wondered. 

“If Goose was coming up behind him, and he heard the steps, he could have been turning to face his attacker,” Torg suggested. 

“Or if Goose came at his brother, face to face, could the brother have been ready to run in the other direction when he was shot?” Hotch wondered. 

“I can’t tell you if he was coming or going. What I can tell you is that the trajectory of the blast runs through his entire ribcage, left side to right side, straight through the heart,” Sutter said. 

“Is there any way to prove that Goose killed his brother?” Hotch asked. 

“There’s no question he killed him," Sutter frowned. 

“But did he kill him on purpose?” Hotch asked. 

“My gut instinct says yes, but I’m telling you right now, his defense would not have to go far to get an expert witness who will testify up and down that it was an accidental shot, not a purposefully one,” Sutter complained. 

“According to testimony at the time, the shooting happened near twilight. The light conditions were poor. Goose claims he didn’t see his brother. He saw a shape in the failing light which he thought was a deer. He fired,” Reid read from the file lying at Matthew Gorsuch’s feet. 

“He couldn’t tell the difference between a biped and a quadruped at a range of ten feet?” Torg questioned. “Goose is big, but how big was his brother?” 

“Fucking huge,” Hotch said, staring at the figure on the table. “What is he, six-six? Six-seven? Two hundred fifty or sixty pounds?” 

“At the time of death, he was six-six, two forty-eight,” Sutter responded. “He played hockey in a local beer league, defenseman. Goose had to have crept up on him to get his shot off first. There’s no other way he could have taken his brother out. I mean, Goose is big, but Moose was bigger.” 

“If the alleged deer had been facing Goose head-on, it is plausible that the angle of his position would have made the posterior legs invisible behind the anterior of the body, especially in failing light," Reid replied. 

Torg frowned skeptically, and raised his hands beside his head, extending his fingers, tucking his thumbs to his skull. Reid stared at him in wonder for a moment before he understood what Torg was driving at. 

“Doe, a deer, a female deer. No antlers,” Reid remarked. 

“Oh,” Karl said simply as he sheepishly lowered his hands. 

“We see hunting accidents all the time. If hunters don’t have proper training, and they go out there without the proper safety gear, bad things do happen, but especially when people have six or seven beers in them, and they’re taking wild shots at vague shapes in poor lighting conditions,” the state coroner lamented. “Maine has strict hunter safety regulations. The problems happen when people don’t follow the rules or think they’re above the law.” 

“What can you tell us about our female victims?” Hotch asked, indicating the other tables. He glanced up to see Billy Haverty had moved to the bay window. He was solemn as a ghost. Lieutenant Bonifant was by his side, talking to him quietly. Ben Northland shuffled behind them. 

“The five female victims share similar injuries to those reported by the survivor, Megan Tremblay. Sexual assault, multiple stab wounds, strangulation. Manual strangulation in one instance – that was with Miranda Horn. The others were strangled using a variety of wire, fishing line, or rope, whatever was in reach. He mutilated the genitals of two of the victims. Not sure why the variation for those two,” Sutter answered. 

“This case keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Hotch growled sarcastically. 

“Has Gorsuch given a formal confession?” Reid wanted to know. Dr. Sutter did too. He leaned in, waiting. 

“He refused to talk to me,” Hotch lamented. “Chief Sudbrink is taking a run at him.” 

“He’s angry about the bullet hole you put in his leg,” Torg interjected. 

“Only because I didn’t put a bullet hole in his face instead,” Hotch replied. 

“Are you regretting your act of mercy?” Reid asked. 

“Mercy?” Hotch muttered. “You mistake me, Dr. Reid. It wasn’t mercy at all that kept me from killing Goose. It was an intense, blood-thirsty desire to see him pay for what he’s done, to the fullest extent of the law.” 

“What’s going to happen to Matt?” Reid asked. 

“Unfortunately, the same private attorney is serving as counsel for both Matt and Goose,” Hotch replied. 

“That’s a bad idea,” Reid winced. 

“It sure as hell doesn’t bode well for Matt Gorsuch,” the coroner observed. 

“It would be better for Matt to have a separate attorney,” Reid agreed. 

“Why don’t you take a break here and come back to the station house? We could use a fresh perspective. You might be able to get Goose to talk,” Hotch suggested to Reid. Spencer stared down at his shoes.

“I doubt that. He’s not going to open up to me. He sees me as your bitch, and it’s pretty clear how much he resents and despises anything female or feminine,” Reid replied. “Besides, there are more important things to do here. I would much rather give some kind of closure to the families instead of wasting my time in a dick-waving contest with Goose Gorsuch.” 

Reid gazed up at the window again, meeting Billy Haverty’s eyes. The young man’s features were frozen cold as a stone. Ben Northland stood next to Billy, and his features were no less ghastly to behold. 

“I’ll wait in the hall for you. Finish with Haverty and Northland. Then you need a break from this place,” Hotch ordered. 

“Yes, sir,” Reid conceded quietly. Hotch patted him on the chest. 

"While you're at it, ask Ben Northland there if he's seen his father lately," Torg murmured. 

"Why? I thought his mother had a restraining order against his father." 

"Oh, she does have a restraining order. Mr. Northland made bail after bashing in your and Dr. Lind's rental vehicle, and no one has seen Mr. Northland since," Hotch whispered with his back turned to the window. 

"Has his lawyer heard from him?" Reid asked. 

"Nope. Mr. Northland is gone. Poof. Disappeared," Torg whispered. 

"He jumped bail?" 

"His car was found abandoned on the Bay Bridge. Doors open. Engine running. No body though," Torg said, wiggling his very blond eyebrows. "Very curious." 

“Hon, do yourself a favor, and make the boys stay on that side of the glass,” Hotch teased with a tiny grin.


	52. The Trail of Evidence

52 - The Trail of Evidence

 

Roughly two hours later, Hotch and Reid walked through the doors of the Greenville Police Station. The task force had reconvened and grown in size, bringing in more military, state, and local officers than before in order to facilitate the collection of evidence at the four case-related locations, and every vehicle the Gorsuches owned. Not to mention Agent Stowe's team from the Boston office. It was hard to walk through the squad room without bumping into people left, right, and center. 

The press had returned as well, with more cameras and bigger mics and larger crews, because now it was an even larger story than before. Once this had been a back page article about a lost cat and a missing college student. A touching personal drama, but hardly worth a lot of press. Now the newspapers and television stations were playing up the angle about the hometown serial killer who had been lurking under everyone’s nose, carrying on his normal life and a normal routine, all the while snatching vulnerable women off the streets and brutally murdering them. It was the top of the hour, every hour, all around the region. The story about Gorsuch naturally grew to include details about the unassuming FBI agent who had first began investigating the case. Reid had been hidden away at the state coroner’s office, and no one had been able to locate him. Hotch had been able to conceal him from much of the attention. But now that Reid had emerged, he had been spotted, and he had been recognized. All bets were off. 

The moment Hotch and Reid walked through the station house doors, lights illuminated them, and a mobile camera crew lunged their direction. A young woman with amazingly-shiny hair pushed a microphone into Reid’s face. He dodged back from her in surprise, eyes wide, mouth open. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid?! We’d like to ask you a few questions concerning the Gorsuch serial murder case!” 

“Ma’am,” Hotch intervened, turning himself sideways and pushing a space through the crowd for Reid. 

“Agent Hotchner!? You’re familiar with the case. Can you answer questions? The public has a right to know why this dangerous man was allowed to roam around unchecked for so many years, preying on innocent women. What can you tell me about the case?” 

“The FBI cannot comment on the details of an on-going investigation. Ma’am, you need to back away. Now,” Hotch added with a terrible finality that seemed almost threatening in tone. 

Reid stumbled, dumbfounded, through the safety zone that Hotch created for him. Aaron hovered protectively around Spencer as he ushered Reid through the crowd and into the small office with the white board. The tiny room had been transformed too. New photographs had been tacked up under each woman’s name – photos of their remains as laid out in the medical bay at state coroner’s office. Details of their autopsies had been catalogued and listed under their photographs. 

Reid stopped in front of the board, overwhelmed by the number of people and the sheer amount of paperwork which had appeared in the tiny room. Neatly-labeled file boxes lined the walls, and neatly-labeled folders were stacked on the table. Was it wrong that Reid felt a tiny bit orgasmic at the sight of so much paperwork? Hotch guided four state troopers out of the room in order to make it somewhat less crowded. From the far end of the table, Pearlman and Hays stood up at Reid’s entrance. Hotch closed the door tightly, turning the blinds down to ward off the camera eyes and bright lights. 

“We heard what happened at the morgue. You all right?” Hays asked Reid. 

“Did you take up boxing in your spare time?” Pearlman wondered, wincing as she studied his face. Reid tentatively touched his bruised mouth, and blushed shyly. “Remind me to show you a few pointers, like how to duck? A little bob-and-weave, maybe? If nothing else works, next time you need to turtle-up on the floor and protect your head.” 

“Reid, pull up a chair. We’ll bring you up to speed. The task force has uncovered some very interesting evidence in the latest searches since you've been down your rabbit hole at the coroner's office,” Hotch said, pushing a seat under Reid. They started handing him folders in succession, Hotch first. “Thankfully, the barrel and the fire-pit at the cabin did not contain human remains. There were a few deer bone fragments. We did find blanket fibers which closely matched those that were on Josie’s carrier. Ecru with green tips from a striped blanket.”

“What about from the interior of the cabin itself?” Reid asked. 

“Gorsuch should have been more careful about his house-keeping. We recovered DNA from four of the five deceased in the bathroom – blood, hair, fingernails,” Pearlman reported. “Megan Tremblay’s DNA was actually under the linoleum.”

“We recovered Goose’s DNA on the victims at the morgue -- hair samples and semen samples. What about the print in the kitchen, on the door handle?” Reid wondered. Hays dug through the pile of folders, and handed another to him. 

“The print matches Goose’s left middle finger. The blood belongs to Glory Lovelace,” Hays reported with a shiver. 

“Which victim’s DNA wasn’t present at the cabin?” Reid asked. 

“Miranda Horn,” Pearlman reported. “Her body was in the collapsed well, but none of her DNA was in the cabin.”

“He killed her elsewhere then?” Reid asked. 

“We suspect he killed her in the old farm truck,” Hotch interjected. 

“The state techs are taking the truck apart, piece by piece, to search for additional physical evidence,” Hays reported. 

“They’ve had it for a week. What’s taking so long?” 

“The damn thing is strung together with duct tape and bailing wire. It’s taking serious time to deconstruct it without destroying it,” Hays replied. 

“Why would the receipt for towing Miranda Horn’s car have been in the tow truck?” Reid wondered. “If Goose killed her in the farm truck, you would have expected to find her DNA and her receipt in the farm truck.”

“It’s possible he moved her receipt around to confuse the issue,” Hotch interjected. “The same way he moved other evidence around, from one cabin to the other, from the main residence to the garage. We found Megan Tremblay's backpack at the residence, and her dream-catcher necklace in Mary's jewelry box." 

Reid stared down at the pile of folders before him, devouring the information as quickly as they pushed it towards him. 

“Megan was able to pick Goose out of a mugshot lineup,” Hotch said, giving Reid one more folder. “This is her written testimony, and a transcript of her video interview. If she’s not going to be able to handle a trial, I think we can use her video taped testimony, and her sworn statement as well.”

“Ms. Harmony said Megan is petrified at the prospect of being near Gorsuch,” Hays lamented. 

“Who wouldn’t be, after what she went through?” Pearlman defended. 

“There’s enough overwhelming evidence here that I don’t believe we’ll need a confession from Gorsuch,” Hotch said. 

“It would be nice to have one though?” Reid questioned. 

“It would be nice, but it’s not necessary. Two more small things that I thought might really interest you. Remember the grocery store bulletin board?” Hotch smiled.

Reid nodded quietly. 

“I took down the flyer about Gorsuch Towing and Car Repair that night when we were there. That’s why I had their number ready at hand. State techs dusted it for fingerprints. We found Glory Lovelace’s prints on it.”

“That ties her to the towing service, at the very least,” Reid agreed that was good news. 

“But wait!” Pearlman announced, picking up one last folder. “It’s taken an entire week of organizing all the loose paperwork that was lying around, bringing everything together from the house, the garage, and all the vehicles. But you’ll never guess what we found these stuffed under years of tax returns, in the back of the business office at the main residence." 

Pearlman handed Reid a final folder. He opened it, and gazed down at the numerous, duplicate pages. A majestic cat stared back at him. A small sad smile graced his tired face. 

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured. 

“You won’t, but Goose sure is. Those posters if nothing else show his connection to the case. He would have had to have driven all over Vermont and Maine where Joy posted these, and pulled every one of them down. You sure you don’t want to take a run at Goose?” Hotch whispered, putting his hands on the back of Reid’s neck and shoulders, rubbing gently. 

“He’s not going to open up to me about what he’s done,” Reid shook his head. “If he has refused to talk to you, and Chief Sudbrink isn’t having any luck with him either…..” 

The door to the small office popped open with a snap. Jack Sudbrink came in, and slammed the door behind himself again. He leaned against the frame and cursed quietly under his breath. 

“How’s it going in there?” Hotch asked tentatively, motioning to the interrogation room next door. Sudbrink took a deep breath to calm himself, and finally growled an answer. 

“Goose is talking a lot, but he ain’t saying much. Being in the same room with him is making my flesh crawl. He's saying all the things you'd expect about being innocent, we got the wrong guy, and most of all about being a good Catholic, but you know, I can't shake the feeling he knows I'm seeing right through him finally, and what's more, he's delighted that I know what kind of monster he really is,” Sudbrink said, shivering. 

“I had hoped he might connect with you, because you’ve known each other for so long,” Reid replied. 

“It’s a matter of pride. He doesn’t want the whole town to know what happened between Mary and Moose,” Sudbrink answered. “You should take a run at him.” 

Reid shook his head no, and stared down at the last folder that had been placed in his grip. His brow furrowed with concern. 

“If nothing else, your presence might antagonize him enough to throw him off his game. Mike Charbonneau’s latest article about you being the genius who solved the whole case? We made sure Goose got a copy of the paper with breakfast. He knows you are the one who started investigating Josie and Glory’s disappearance, and he’s livid about being shown up by a pencil-necked bureaucrat from Washington,” Sudbrink said. 

“Just come with me, don’t say a word, and follow my lead,” Hotch suggested. Reid snorted softly, giving Hotch a private stare. 

“The last time you said that to me, a deranged maniac tried to choke me to death. I couldn’t swallow for a week,” Spencer murmured. Hotch displayed a bashful half-smile. 

“Yeah, but this is a totally different situation,” Hotch promised. 

“No,” Reid said finally. “There would be no point in wasting our time. If he’s not going to confess to either of you two, men he would view as his peers, he’s not going to open up to me. I do not wish to antagonize him. I honestly don’t even want to be in the same room with him.” 

Hotch blinked at Reid in surprise, but so did Sudbrink and the others too. 

“I’d like a minute or two to talk to Dr. Reid,” Sudbrink blustered through the words, motioning awkwardly to the door. Pearlman and Hays exchanged a glance.

“I could use some coffee,” Pearlman said, taking Hays by the elbow and leading him away. Hotch waited by the door, but Sudbrink stared meaningfully at him as well. Aaron took a hint, and stood outside the small office, braving the cameras and lights, pacing back and forth beyond the window. 

“What is it, Chief?” Reid asked, organizing a couple of files that he might need. 

“I owe you an apology,” Sudbrink began. 

“For what?” Reid wondered. Sudbrink circled the table, leaning on the back of one of the chairs. 

“I feel as though I’ve let you down.” 

“Not at all.”

“Is this about the situation with Agent Jareau? Is that why you don’t want to help with Goose?”

“No. The two are not connected. While I do wish you would drop the charges against JJ, I can understand why you feel you cannot.” 

“I don’t want there to be any hard feelings between us.” 

“There aren’t,” Reid promised. 

“Watching your team work, watching you work, it’s made me realize there is so much more I need to learn about law enforcement and forensics, so I have a better idea what's going on around me. I don't like coming out of this looking like some hick idiot who didn't have a clue his town was harboring a monster like this.” 

“Chief, you shouldn’t sell yourself short. You have been instrumental in every aspect of this investigation. The task force could not have solved this case without you. You should be very proud of how you and your staff have performed. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

“I’m sorry. So sorry. I should have been honest with you about Janeen and Dirk.” 

“Your personal liaisons are none of my business, and they are not relevant to the case at hand,” Reid insisted gently. "Although I would not discount the possibility that Goose Gorsuch had guessed the connection, and that he took Dirk hostage in order to enrage you." 

“I thought about that," Jack nodded. "Doc, I don’t want you to think less of me because I cheated on my wife. It was years ago, a one-time thing. Lori has her life at the hospital, and I have my life here at the station. Janeen has always been there for me as a friend. We both regretted what happened – me cheating on Lori, Janeen cheating on Doug. It was wrong. We were both sorry. But then she found out about Dirk. On one hand, you always have that reminder of what you did wrong, but on the other hand, you always have that bond between you as well, the most basic demonstration of love between two people.”

“Chief Sudbrink, if you are under the impression that your liaison with your receptionist is a shock to me, you are mistaken.” 

“You knew?” Sudbrink flushed with color. 

“From the minute I sat down in front of your desk the first day, and looked at the pictures you had on display,” Reid whispered, giving a hint of a smile. “But as I said, your personal liaisons are none of my business.” 

“From the minute you sat down?” Sudbrink backed up, his voice getting deeper. 

“Besides that, you confirmed my suspicion at Mrs. Francis’s house,” Reid nodded.

“When? What? How?” Jack asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I commented that you had clearly had experience with young children. You said you had two daughters, one son, and a grandchild.”

“I didn’t realize I said that,” Sudbrink blanched. Reid’s smile widened slightly. 

“Your two daughters were in the photographs of you and your wife, but there were no pictures with your wife and Dirk Morrow. There were, however, photos of Janeen and Dirk. Having met Mr. Morrow during the course of the case, I would have to say that while he does not resemble Janeen, he does bear a passing resemblance to you, both in facial features and in physical stature. Personality too.”

“The truth is, the older Dirk gets, the more he looks like my old man,” Sudbrink confided. 

“Beyond sharing that connection, it’s clear from your interactions with Janeen that you are closer than friends. You replaced her broken coffee mug. You know how she takes her coffee. She knows you like French crullers. You know she’s allergic to coconut. When you were furious with Jared Jackson, she was the one who was able to talk you out of choking him lifeless. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to do the math,” Reid murmured. 

“Damned profilers,” Jack joked, shaking his head and looking sheepish. “Doc, I really wish you would take a shot at Goose.” 

“He is not going to confess to me,” Reid reiterated. “We do not need his confession. The evidence speaks for itself.” 

“What are you concerned about?” Sudbrink asked. “Are you afraid of looking like a glory-hound who wants to take credit for the whole case? No one thinks you’re doing that, Doc. I promise.”

“I am not concerned what people think about me. I am concerned about Megan Tremblay and Matt Gorsuch though.” 

“Megan is going to be all right. The police in Farmington are going to drop the charges against her, owing to the extenuating circumstances surrounding her incarceration. She’s going to be released, and they’ll consider her debt paid with time served for the charge.” 

“I don’t know if that’s an altogether good idea, releasing her. She’s going to need years of therapy,” Reid said. 

“Ms. Harmony said she’ll help Megan transition to a halfway house, and then back on her own. My guess is the first thing Megan will want to do when she can leave the halfway house is head back to California.” 

“Can you blame her?” 

“No,” Jack shook his head. 

"Will you see that she gets her necklace back? The dream catcher. It has special sentimental meaning."

"I'll do that," Sudbrink promised. 

“What about Matt?” Reid asked. 

“So far, none of the evidence indicates that Matt was involved. None of his DNA has been on the victims at the morgue. Megan never saw Matt. His signature isn’t on the towing receipts for Miranda Horn or for Glory Lovelace. Matt isn’t responsible for what’s happened. He’s been released on his own recognizance, but remains under surveillance."

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure he had no idea what was going on. He’s been taken in as much if not more than everyone else,” Reid lamented. 

“He refuses to believe Goose has done these crimes, or that his father’s death wasn’t an accident,” Sudbrink added. 

“It’s unbelievably sadistic when you think about it,” Reid frowned. “Matt may be Goose's worst victim, in the end. To kill your brother, convince your nephew it was an accident, and then to bond so tightly with the boy that he’ll never believe what you really are? Matt has been brainwashed for the last eight years.” 

“He’ll come around in time,” Sudbrink hoped. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about the abrupt way that Moose’s wife, Matt’s mother, left? Looking back, do you find the circumstances of her departure at all suspicious?” Reid wondered. 

“You mean suspicious as in Goose could have killed her too?” Sudbrink worried. 

“No. I believe she is alive. But Goose could be the reason she left,” Reid suggested. 

“What are the odds we’ll even be able to find her after all these years?”

“While the stressor which made Goose snap and kill was the illicit relationship between Moose and Mary, and his wife's subsequent suicide, I do believe there must have been other instances of instability in his life, other occurrences when Goose acted out of the ordinary, and someone witnessed his true nature. It could be that Moose’s wife, Matt’s mother, saw the monster inside Goose, and that is why she left,” Reid speculated. “It’s highly unusual for a mother to abandon her child, especially a young child. It’s not impossible, but it is very unusual.” 

“You think Goose tried something funny with her?” Sudbrink asked. 

"I do," Reid nodded. 

“It's a long shot, Doc. A real long shot.” 

“We have nothing to lose in trying. Having another corroborating witness who has seen what Goose is like under that façade of his, it sure wouldn’t hurt our position. Having a stable, responsible, older adult to put on the stand and tell the jury what Goose is really like? That could make your case right there. If you can find her,” Reid persuaded. 

“You’ve got a good point there. We’ll get a search underway for Moose’s wife.” 

“There’s no doubt in my mind that Goose will attempt to take Matt down with him when he goes, as the last bit of revenge against his brother for having an affair with his wife,” Reid said. 

“Well, Matt is sticking by Goose, come Hell or high water,” Sudbrink sighed in defeat. 

“More’s the pity,” Reid commiserated.


	53. Mother Nature

53 - Mother Nature

 

“What’s the special today, Marla?” Hotch asked as he bounced his butt across the squeaky red bench and rearranged the silverware to the left side of his plate. 

“Agent Hotchner? I thought you all had left this morning,” the waitress smiled as she slipped him a cup of coffee and a menu.

“Mother Nature had other plans. We were on the plane, on the tarmac, preparing for take-off, when the call came over the intercom that the airport was closed, and no more planes were going out today,” Hotch moaned in anguish.

“You’re stuck till tomorrow morning?” 

“Afraid so. Maybe even the day after. Stupid weather fronts. No offense, but I’m ready to go home. I want to see my son again, before he’s driving and shaving and bringing home his prom date.”

“I hear you. Where’s Dr. Reid?” Marla asked. 

“He went to check on Joy. I decided it was better to give them time alone to talk, not interject myself.” 

“The way the wind is blowing and the sky is looking out there, you better get your lunch to go,” Marla smiled, tapping her pen to her tablet. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you back to your hotel in time for the classic movie marathon on TV.”

* * *

The minute she opened the door, Mrs. Francis smiled, and pulled Chief Sudbrink and Dr. Reid into the house. She doled out hugs to each of them, and ushered them through the removal of their coats and shoes, all the while clucking and cooing about the weather and the coming storm.

“Hot damn! Man of the hour!” A deep voice bellowed from the kitchen area. 

“JOE!? You’re home!” Sudbrink laughed. He kicked off his shoes and barreled across, giving Mr. Francis a firm handshake. 

Reid pivoted carefully while taking off his shoes, and saw the sea of little faces crowded around where Mr. Francis was sitting in the kitchen nook. Sherrie and Carrie were there, with their new kittens. Baby Harry was bouncing around on Joe Francis’s knee, gurgling happily the whole time. Standing at the counter, Joy looked up from a tray of unfinished cupcakes, and gave Reid an apologetic glance before ducking her eyes again. Across the room in the bay window, Josie dozed in her favorite spot.

“You caught me briefly. I’m about to head back out and get the two oldest from school,” Joe laughed. 

“If they’re calling school, it must be a serious storm then."

"They called school but not the hockey game. Can you believe that?" Joe laughed. 

"I’ll be right behind you, picking up Jenny, if she’s still talking to me,” Jack decided as he scooped Harry up. The baby shrieked with delight as Jack spun him around and promptly put him in Reid’s uncertain grasp. If Harry hadn’t taken a very firm hold on Spencer’s neck, the child would have dropped like a stone. 

“Oh, no, really, gosh,” Reid cringed. 

“Doc, you gotta balance his little butt. That's better. See? All you need is some practice. You’ll get the hang of babies in no time at all,” Jack smiled, putting Reid’s hands under and around Harry. The baby gargled, leaned forward, and gnawed on Reid’s shoulder. Reid made a horrible face, stretching in the other direction. 

“Don’t worry. That slobber will wash right out,” Joe Francis promised. 

“Here,” Connie murmured, taking pity. She set about detaching her child from Reid’s thin frame, which wasn’t easy, because Harry had quite the hold with hands, legs, and mouth too. 

“Thank you,” Reid whispered, pulling free of the clinging child. Harry clutched his mother with equal enthusiasm, pulling on her hair, gnawing her shoulder. “Do you want this?” Reid asked, taking the cloth that Sudbrink handed him and giving it to Mrs. Francis.

“Thanks. He’s teething,” Connie explained with a small chuckle. “Why don’t you and Joy have a private word? The Chief can help Joe and me with the carpet samples in the living room. Come on, you two hoodlums,” she added sternly. Joe and Jack followed behind her very obediently. 

Once the others herded out of the kitchen, Reid cautiously approached Joy at the counter. She moved back and forth between rows of cupcakes, curling her fingers around the bag of frosting, turning loops and swirls of dark brown onto the cupcake tops. Carrie and Sherrie were playing with their kittens on the table, rolling balls of yarn back and forth for them to chase. 

“You should have seen your face. Have you ever seen 'Alien'? It was like you were holding off a face-hugger,” she giggled, then made a pretend, horrified face as she pushed the frosting bag away from herself. 

Reid failed to see the humor, but he did not fail to smile. “Double chocolate?” 

“With fudge frosting,” Joy remarked. Reid pined softly in delight. 

“I know your college interests lean more towards the medical persuasion, but have you ever considered a career in the culinary arts?” Reid asked, putting a hand on the counter for support. Joy glanced sideways at him.

“No.” 

“You could become a world-famous cupcake artist.”

“Is this one of those psychology distraction techniques designed to make me feel at ease talking to you? A way to work up to more uncomfortable topics?” 

“Yes,” Reid almost smiled. 

“Dr. Reid, I’m very sorry for what happened at the morgue,” Joy said finally. 

“You were upset. There is no need to apologize.”

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, you of all people. I’m so ashamed.” 

“There is no need to apologize.” 

“You’ve had other family members react badly? Punch you in the mouth? Cave in your chest?” 

“Yes,” Reid replied. “I thought you would be at the airfield this morning. Are you not riding home with us? Did you book a different flight?" 

“I’ve decided to stay in Maine. I’ll transfer to the university at Bangor, finish my pre-med degree here.” 

“And then?” Reid wondered. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Have you decided between pediatrics and mortuary science yet?” he wondered. 

“Still debating,” Joy admitted. “That newspaper guy was here earlier, the one with the funny hat.” 

“Michael Charbonneau?” 

“Yes. He wants me to grant him an exclusive interview about closing the case.” 

“How do you feel about that?” 

“The story isn’t over, Dr. Reid. It won’t be over until Gorsuch is convicted and put away. It might not even be over then. Glory is never coming back. There will always be a part of me that’s empty because she’s not here.” 

“Is that why you decided to stay in Maine? To be close to Glory?” 

“Yes,” Joy admitted sadly. 

Reid nodded, watching her swirl frosting onto the cupcakes on the tray. 

“Do you plan to be in the court room for the trial?” he asked softly. 

“I will be there. Every day. Every minute. Every second. I will see Gorsuch punished for what he’s done,” Joy vowed. “I want him to have to look me in the eye.”

“That psychological ploy is exactly the wrong approach with someone like this. As a sadist, he will derive pleasure from seeing you, and knowing that he is the source of your pain. If I might suggest a different strategy, do not attend the trial," Reid recommended. 

“What?” Joy gasped. "Doc, I promise I won't go nuclear in the court room."

“I realize you will need to be there if they call you to the stand, but other than that, you could observe unseen from an adjacent room and not be present in the actual court room itself.”

"You don't think I can handle the gory details?" 

"No, I think you will be fine with the details. Nothing you haven't experienced in the classroom setting." 

“You don’t want Goose to see me?” Joy wondered. 

“Precisely. Seeing you hurting will satisfy him, both emotionally and sexually. Conversely, not seeing you, not knowing the effect he has had on you, it will cause him frustration and anxiety. He will be uneasy, off-balance. The longer you stay away from him, the worse his condition will grow. He will likely lash out at his counsel. He may display bouts of anger and rage. Not seeing you and not being allowed to enjoy how much he has hurt you, it will cause his façade of normalcy to slip. If you can, when you must confront him in the court room, do your best to conceal your emotions. Do not let him derive pleasure from your pain.”

“Hit him where it hurts?” Joy asked. 

“Indeed,” Reid nodded. 

"Man, you could be real evil if you put your mind to it," Joy remarked. 

"Is that a compliment?" Reid asked. 

“Yes and no. Will you return for the trial?” she wondered.

“If they call on me, I will, but I would prefer for Chief Sudbrink to take as much credit as possible. What will you do about your personal effects in DC?”

“Holly said she’d box the stuff up and hold it for me at her place until I can come get it. It’s not a lot of stuff. I’ve been emailing her, keeping her up to date.”

“She is a good friend.” 

“Yes, she is. You know, Doc, if you get a moment between cases, you might want to talk to her too,” Joy confided softly. 

“Why?”

Joy shrugged. “Not my place to say.” 

“You believe Holly is struggling with a loss as well? That she felt sympathy for your plight because she has been in your shoes?” 

“Talk to her,” Joy pleaded. "She could use your advice." 

“I will. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry this case turned out the way it did. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring Glory back to you alive.” 

“At least you found Josie,” Joy whispered, a hint of emotion creeping into her shaking voice. They glanced up in unison. The blue-gray feline was striking a majestic pose in the bay window in the living room. She stretched and yawned, and deigned to be petted by Chief Sudbrink, even if he was talking to her in a baby voice about what a beautiful girl she was. 

“I hope you both will be happy here,” Reid whispered to Joy.

“We will be. I'm resuming classes. Mrs. Francis helped me find a part-time job already. Tutoring math and science students at the high school,” Joy said. 

“Well, don’t give up on the baking. Call me if you need help, or if you need someone to talk to,” Reid suggested, eyeing the cupcakes hungrily. Joy added extra frosting to the top of one, and handed it to him. 

“Thanks. I will.”


	54. Epilogue - Snowbound

Epilogue - Snowbound

 

The hotel room was dark when Hotch returned. He was grateful to be inside again. The storm outside was throwing around snow and ice. Winds howled like a beast in agony. Shards bounced off the windows. Swirling white blotted out any features beyond the end of your arm. Aaron was grateful they had not flown home in this weather. He didn’t want to think what kind of damage this kind of winter maelstrom could have wrought on a delicate airplane. 

Hotch shivered as he shed his coat by the door, dropped his to-go lunch on the coffee table, and crossed over to the thermostat, hiking up the temperature to ward away the chill. He went back and kicked his shoes off by the door, glancing for a moment into the dark bedroom suite. A white box with a red bow waited him on his bed. Hotch almost fell over his shoes. He stood up straight, and walked towards the bedroom. 

A red velvet ribbon trailed off the bed, onto the floor, dangling in a curl that tempted the hand. Aaron bent to touch it, to draw it into his fingers. Lifting the ribbon caused the box to spring open to all sides. Numberless small envelopes were lined up neatly for him. He touched the first, and recognized the date, because he had a duplicate of that envelope in his own pocket. 

He thumbed through the envelopes, and selected one from the middle. The date was from August two years ago. He put it back, moved further through the pack, stopping on the last envelope in the group. It had today’s date. It was open. The tiny cartoon feline inside declared he was the cat’s meow. The rest of the valentine was blank. But there was a pen on the bedside table, and another velvet ribbon tied around the handle of the drawer. 

“Jesus Christ, I thought you’d never get back,” Reid murmured softly behind him. Spencer was lurking behind the bathroom door, peering out shyly. Hotch spun around, pulling on the velvet ribbon as he turned. He spilled the small envelopes off onto the floor in a tumble of white corners and black numbers. Underneath the envelopes was a plain sheet of paper, on which Spencer had written out Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnet 43. " 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways'," Reid whispered, raising his shy eyes at Hotch. 

“What is all this?” Hotch wondered. 

“Late Valentine’s Day gift.” 

“Ah,” Aaron nodded, coming over towards the bathroom. “Why are you…” 

“Sorry we missed the exact date,” Reid whispered. "Guess we'll have to let Garcia reschedule the party." 

“…..hiding in the bathroom?” Hotch wondered. "I convinced her to plan one for March, a private affair. What are all of these?" 

"Don't read them all now. I don't think I could bear that. But it's okay to open one." 

Hotch returned to the bed and pulled out a random envelope. He didn't recognize the date. The grasshopper on the valentine announced 'you make me so hoppy'. Hotch grinned, and lifted the front of the tiny card. 

" 'Dusty desk, closed room. Three sets of prints on the floor. Who was watching us?' "

Hotch looked back at the date, and gave Reid a curious glance. 

"The abandoned office. Do you remember? When we were rolling around on the floor, I saw other shoe prints. Not yours, not mine," Reid said. Hotch picked another envelope. Reid covered his face with one hand. Hotch didn't pause to see what the animal on the front even was as he tore open the card. 

" 'I let you cuff me. Your toy to tease and torment. Doubt not my consent'. These are haikus. Erotic haikus," Hotch decided. Reid laughed quietly. 

"Very bad ones. Don't read any more. Please."

Hotch picked up the envelopes and put them back in order. The first date finally dinged a bell in his memory. It was the first time Hotch and Reid had made love! Aaron caught his breath, and ruffled through the small cards as he grinned broadly at Reid. 

"They're all love poems?" Hotch beamed. "No one has ever written poetry for me before."

"No one else better try," Reid threatened. 

"One for every time?" Hotch wondered. Reid nodded, and Hotch hugged the cards hungrily. 

“Close your eyes. I have another surprise for you," Reid promised. 

Hotch licked his lips and waited where he was, eyes clenched tightly. The bathroom door opened. Slender arms went up around Hotch’s shoulders, and Spencer dotted a cinnamon-flavored kiss to Aaron’s mouth. Hotch slid his hands down miles of bare skin, pausing at Reid’s naked hips, feeling a hint of material there. Curious, he opened his eyes. Reid was wearing the tiniest, sheerest, red briefs. They were velvety to the touch. The way they hugged his butt and his manhood was utterly indecent. Hotch set the box of envelopes on the side table, and stood up. He made Reid pirouette once as he admired him. 

“Nice,” Hotch murmured, all hands. Reid squirmed at the flagrant groping, standing up on his toes to get away. Hotch kept a firm hold, reaching for the tiny bow on the left side, which would loosen the skimpy underwear. 

“You haven’t opened your other gifts yet,” Reid whispered, catching Hotch’s inquisitive fingers, saving the small bow from destruction. 

“Other gifts?” Hotch rumbled. He pulled Reid towards the bed, and pushed the covers aside. “So gorgeous,” Hotch purred, caressing down Reid’s shoulders, down his arms to his elbows, easing him back against the bed. 

As Reid lay panting and shivering, Hotch opened the drawer to see what lay inside. As Reid stretched out further on the mattress, the briefs shifted. Sandy curls of hair peeked over the top. The tight, sheer material could hardly contain Spencer. Hotch grinned to himself and opened the vial of body oil. The scent of cinnamon filled the air. Hotch reached over, and nipped at the tiny bow on Reid’s hip. The small briefs unwound. He let them dangle around one ankle for a moment before he kissed his way slowly up one leg, across Reid’s abdomen, up his chest. Spencer scooched downward and wrestled with Hotch’s tie. 

“No, no, no,” Hotch scolded tenderly. “Hands above your head.” 

“Yes, sir,” Reid panted, making quite a show of stretching his arms northward. Hotch nuzzled Reid’s chest, nosing and sucking his nipples in turn. He slurped his way teasingly over Spencer’s goose-flesh dotted skin, touching moles and freckles with kisses and licks. He sucked noisily on the crown of Reid's cock, delighting when Reid whimpered and writhed, knees colliding. 

“Quite the storm out there,” Hotch commented softly as he caressed the outside of Reid’s thighs, pulling his knees sideways and up. He aimed to get a good grip so Reid couldn't squirm away. 

“Mm hmm,” Reid gulped in reply. He nestled into position for Hotch, quivering as Aaron’s hands moved over his skin.

“We could be stuck here for hours and hours with nothing to do,” Aaron rumbled. Reid laughed softly, lifting his chin to entreaty a kiss as Hotch loomed over him. 

“Maybe,” Spencer whispered. 

“There’s a movie marathon on TV,” Aaron replied. 

“Later,” Reid pouted, taking Hotch’s right hand and drawing his fingers to his mouth. Spencer closed his eyes and sucked hungrily on one finger, then a second finger. 

“Mmm,” Hotch groaned at the touch of that too-skilled tongue. “You mentioned another gift?” 

“Under the bed,” Reid rasped, reluctantly releasing Hotch's fingers. 

“Hands above your head,” Aaron repeated, waiting. Spencer pined, but he obeyed. Hotch retrieved the white box under the bed, trailing the identical red velvet ribbons into a pile to the side. Reid smiled faintly as he watched Hotch fuss with the box. It popped open, and Hotch jumped slightly. His face curled with puzzlement when a sheer pair of black briefs fell into his hands. “You can’t be serious,” Aaron frowned, holding the tiny underwear up. They barely covered his hand, let alone…..

Reid gave him a slow, patient smile. 

“They stretch,” he promised. 

“There’s no way these will fit me,” Hotch frowned. 

“Please?” Reid begged. Hotch narrowed his eyes. 

“No,” Aaron rumbled. He sprang at Reid, flipped him over on his stomach, and grabbed backwards for the red velvety ribbons. In no time, he had Reid’s wrists bound together behind his back, a ribbon laced to each ankle, and one wound loosely around Reid’s neck as a collar, complete with a trailing curl he could lead Reid by. Hotch stepped back for a moment to admire Reid again, running a hand down his back, over his bound hands, and under one hip. 

“You should wear red more often,” Aaron suggested. “A little bit of red, and nothing else. I like this look on you.” 

Hotch reached for the body oil and coated his fingers, shadowing over Reid’s bound form and watching Reid’s face as he inserted one finger, and began to stretch him. Spencer moaned out, arching his hips, spreading himself for his lover. “You don't know how I've missed that sound,” Hotch purred, curling his fingers, inserting another, watching almost from one side as Reid thrust against the hand. Three fingers in, and Reid was bucking and gasping and groaning. 

Hotch found Reid’s pleasure spot, and kept his fingertips pressed there as he laid him down on one side. Spencer rolled slightly, and lifted one knee, moving with each stroke of Hotch’s intruding fingers. 

Hotch unzipped his trousers, and freed his aching cock. He caressed through Spencer’s short hair, and pulled his head closer. Reid licked his lips in anticipation, and swallowed Hotch obediently. He trusted Aaron to guide him home. Hotch cradled Reid’s neck and head, keeping his thrusts to a minimum, enjoying the feel of Reid's plush lips, all the while probing and stroking Reid’s pleasure spot with an outstretched right hand. Spencer was whimpering and sucking in earnest, eyes closed in concentration. 

Hotch stopped tormenting Reid's prostate, and began to stroke his erection, gently at first, slowly increasing his pulls as he thrust against that beautiful mouth. Reid was dripping with each stroke, making high-pitched, keening noises as he rocked and bucked. Hotch caressed the head of Reid’s cock, thumbing his slit, holding him tight. Hotch climaxed, splashing hot, wet heat down Reid’s tight throat. Spencer sucked him dry, and then released him. Hotch pulled away, hearing Reid gasping for air. Hotch moved quickly between Spencer’s shaking legs, and drew his cock into his mouth. 

Each teasing lick made Reid draw in a shaking breath and expel a grunt of building pleasure. Hotch plunged his fingers deep again, and sucked Reid to the hilt. Spencer screamed out, and Hotch worried for a moment that whoever had the room next door was going to hear him. Another few moments of simultaneous stroking and sucking, and Reid was sobbing loudly, almost uncontrollably. Long legs clutched around Hotch's shoulders as Reid screamed out again. Hotch drained his young lover, and left him panting on the bed, tangled up in the covers. He also gave him two sharp, warning slaps on the behind. Reid lay in a puzzled, dazed heap, his backside throbbing from the hard smacks. 

Hotch reached over and picked up the tiny black briefs. He laid them on the middle of his stomach and gave a shuddering sigh. 

"Maybe when I lose twenty pounds," he decided before putting them on the white box on the side table. He stood up from the bed and undressed, leaving his clothes on the floor. Reid nosed his way out of his heap, and wriggled around. He finally put his head on the pillows at the top of the bed, and struggled to catch his breath. 

"Hey, jerkface. You wanna untie me?" Reid asked. Hotch lay down on the pillows next to Spencer, and dotted a kiss on his nose. Nothing good was going to come from the mischievous grin spreading across Aaron's face as he traced one finger down the middle of Reid's bare chest. 

"Oh, no. I am so not done with you," Hotch whispered, taking a firm grip on one of the velvet ribbons. He leaned forward and stole a lingering kiss. Reid chuckled to himself, delighted with the predicament. He could think of worse ways to spend a snowbound afternoon.


End file.
